


Star of Spring

by rWolfWrites



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, F/M, Next Gen, So many OCs, next gen fic, oc x oc - Freeform, touch of emotion, touch of smut, touch of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 00:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 64,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16712803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rWolfWrites/pseuds/rWolfWrites
Summary: Casrien, Heir to the Night Court, and Lyssa, Heir to Spring, are bound by unfortunate circumstance when an unknown regent plots to breed some power back into their line.Aelia, Lyssa's friend from the Summer Court, and Israen, Casrien's cousin, already intimately entwined, barely skirt the same danger, and find themselves in a precarious position in more than one way.And little Lily, a child by any and all standards, is caught in an ancient feud between the oldest of the High Lords.





	1. Prologue

“We do things a little differently in the Night Court,” Casrien dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “We wait for people to beg.”

“I’m not from the Night Court,” Lyssa said, her breathing labored enough that Casrien smirked. “We don’t beg in the Spring Court.”

“Perhaps I should teach you.”

##  **_~ Nineteen Years Earlier ~_ **

The house lurched one final time as Feyre’s powers tried to grasp to anything as her son entered the world.

The manor’s windows rattled as Tamlin cried, holding the hand of his frail wife and their tiny, tiny little girl.

“He’s perfect,” Rhys said, silver lining his eyes as he kissed Feyre’s shaking hand. Her talons had drawn blood.

“She’s so small,” Tamlin whispered, taking their child in his arms. His wife laughed, leaning her head against his.

“I love you,” Feyre said quietly, closing her eyes.

“I love you,” Tamlin’s wife murmured against his hair.

“Look at him.”

“Look at her.”

“They’re going to hunt him.”

“They’re going to love her.”

“He’ll be strong enough.”

“They’ll all want her.”

Rhys kissed Feyre’s forehead and slid into the warm bed beside her, wrapping his arms around the ones holding their beautiful child.

Tamlin kissed his wife again and waved off the wet nurse, unable to let go of the precious gift in his arms.

“News from the Spring Court: Arrianne bore a daughter.”

“The Night Court, my lord—it is a boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr, rwolf19. Completed there, just shifting it over.


	2. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a rare show of unity, every Court attends a celebration, honoring the War of the Cauldron. Only, Prythian is not so unified after all . . .

Casrien wasn’t looking for trouble, no matter what his cousin said. She was too little to understand anyways. She was just repeating what his Uncle Lucien had said. Besides, Casrien usually didn’t have to look for trouble. He was just unlucky enough to find it constantly. Whether it be assassins or females, trouble came to him.

Luckily, however, his annoying little cousin wasn’t at this affair. No, this was one for those old enough to understand the War of the Cauldron and drink sparkling wine. It was a masquerade—the 75th anniversary of the War’s end. His own aunts had ended it, along with his parents of course.

“Casrien, you’re supposed to keep the mask _on_ your face,” his mother sighed, pushing the mask off the top of his silken black hair with a gust of night. They were a matched set, along with his father, which didn’t annoy him as much as he pretended. He liked it when the others recognized what he was, the power he was born to. It made them much less likely to pick fights. Most of the time.

“Come on,” his cousin Israen slung his arm over Casrien’s shoulders. His mask was like black scales, tipped as his wings were, glittering just like his Illyrian armor. Casrien wished he could’ve shown off his wings. His father said that until he could protect himself, he couldn’t allow them to be seen in public. But Casrien _could_ protect himself. He just couldn’t do it in practice.

He swore half the assassins were sent by his parents to test him.

They’d started to reach him after his fourteenth birthday. He’d been doing reasonably in training, not nearly as well as Israen had at his age, but still well. Then he’d turned a man to red mist when he’d smelled the poison on the dagger aiming for his back as he wandered through one of the many Illyrian camps. He had powers, incredible powers, but they only presented when he absolutely needed them. Nobody knew why.

The room was enormous, masked dancers spinning in the center. There were seven raised daises around the edges of the room, half a flight of white marble stairs leading down to the level the dancers were on. They were railed with white marble as well. He looked back to see his mother leaning down on said rail. She gave him a smile and a wave.

“All right, this is the best time to find you a female,” Israen said. Casrien made a face, turning to make sure his cousin saw it. “I know, I know, but your first time is going to be miserable so it may as well be with some Fae from another court that you’ll never have to deal with again.”

“I’ve already had sex, you ass,” Casrien hissed. The most recent assassin, the only one that had gotten close enough to scar him. He’d only told his Uncle Cassian, too embarrassed to tell his parents. He knew they knew, but Casrien had vowed never to speak of it again.

“You’re holding out on me?” Hurt leaked into his best friend’s voice but Casrien just gave a dark shake of his head. “All right. I’m still getting you in bed with one of these fine ladies.”

“I don’t need your help,” Casrien grumbled.

“Don’t you?” Israen gave him the grin he’d inherited directly from his father. Several people took steps away from the duo at it. Israen turned him to face the dancing. He hummed for a second, “Pale dress, gold hair and mask.”

Casrien took only a moment to find her. From a distance she was pretty. Short, but pretty. He had no idea the alternative task his cousin was very purposefully setting him up for.

–:–:–:–

Lyssa watched the dancers. She didn’t care to join. She didn’t like to touch people. Not after her bleeding had come and her powers with them. She’d turned someone into a rose bush once. All for touching her shoulder. It had taken her father hours to find some kind of remedy.

It was an extension of the shape-shifting she’d inherited, a dangerous one. She’d turned her mother into a golden retriever by accident. Lesser Fae had learned to avoid her.

So she wore gloves and smiles like armor. People still loved her for the lies that poured out of her. She hid the fear away so only her father could see it. Only he could make it better, because she couldn’t hurt him. She’d never been able to.

_Night Court_ , screamed the male now approaching her. One of the sons of the heroes of the War. She had a guess who, if she could remember the names of them all. Her father didn’t like the Night Court. He tried to hide it, but he didn’t. It had never been truly explained to her, beyond the Witch-Queen and the War of the Cauldron, although in both occasions, Spring and Night had fought as one.

“This should be interesting,” she muttered to her friend, Aelia, High Lord Tarquin’s daughter. She was several years older than Lyssa was. Lyssa had turned her into a shark once, and herself into a dolphin, so they could explore the bay near Adriata. They would’ve been in far more trouble, but Aelia knew the city and its palace better than anyone. By the time their parents had noted their absence, they were already back in Aelia’s room, conspiring ways for Lyssa to sneak out of Spring.

“More than _interesting_. Enjoy yourself,” Aelia said with a sly grin, patting her arm once before slipping away. “Night courtiers are insatiable.”

Every syllable of that last suggestively purred word was no doubt audible to the male, and Lyssa barely managed to rein in her gape before he was standing not a full two feet from her. Aelia had a way of talking about such things that Lyssa’s mother would have a heart attack at. The Night Court male seemed unbothered.

“Evening, my lady,” the male bowed. His smile was dashing, just crooked enough to remind her not to trust him. His eyes reminded her of the flickering night sky, a burning blue that she was immediately jealous of. Even with the jewel studded mask trying to undermine it, his jawline and form-fitting clothes made the sheer maleness of him irritating and intimidating and intoxicating all at once.

Lyssa curtsied, low enough and long enough that he had ample opportunity to look at the cleavage her almost modest dress exposed, “Good evening.”

“You aren’t dancing.”

“I’m surprised you managed _that_ particular observation,” Lyssa smiled. She didn’t want to be nice. For once, she was going to be mean and dangerous. Her mother could skin her when they got home, but he was Night Court, and her father wouldn’t mind. So, she was going to insult whoever she could, especially the grinning idiot who she somehow already wanted to turn into a ferret. “Was it the standing still or the pleasant conversation, which you’ve so recklessly scared off, that made you come to such an astonishing epiphany?”

Surprise flickered in those cobalt eyes for just a heartbeat, quickly followed by delight. Lyssa … didn’t know what to think of it. Any Spring Court male would’ve scurried off, tail between his legs, at the first signal of ire, nevertheless blatant sarcasm. She was the Rose of Spring, brought up so that year by year, the flower grew and the thorns were pruned. He could’ve at least looked a little scared, but he didn’t at all. He just leaned closer.

“If you didn’t want to dance, why did you come to a celebratory ball?” The male’s voice was a honeyed trap. She needed to be careful. Or … She could do as her friend suggested. But that’s what he wanted from her.

Why should she give it up so easily?

–:–:–:–

"Who is Casrien talking-” panic flickered through Rhys. “That’s Tamlin’s daughter.”

“What?” Feyre gripped his arm as she peered through the crowd. Tamlin had shattered bones for his daughter and her honor. As Feyre understood it, Arrianne had had a stern word with him about the mischief he’d gotten up to at his daughter’s age. No amount of claiming it was different had convinced her. But this time, it truly was different; those males had been from the Spring Court, sentries and lesser lordlings. If he tried to hurt Casrien, and Casrien lost control …

“We’ll distract him,” Lucien took Elain’s arm and started moving through the crowd.

“We shouldn’t have brought little Cas,” Rhys said quietly.

“He’s not so little anymore, Rhys,” Feyre said simply. “We knew what he would become when he was born.”

“Siphons don’t work, training anything but his body has proven near impossible. He’s daemati and Illyrian with an affinity for misting, darkness, healing, and ice,” Rhys knew he was missing something, but he and Feyre never spoke of his Sight outside of Velaris. Feyre gave him a stern look but stayed quiet. “If they all find out just how much power he got from us, they’ll kill him before he learns to control it.”

“I’ve heard the daughter has problem with control, too,” Nesta said quietly. Cassian’s hand lingered at her waist. “Israen knew exactly what he was doing.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll talk to him when we get home,” Cassian waved Feyre off before she could scold him.

“That’ll go over well,” Nesta muttered. “You only made it worse last time.”

“Anything to frustrate Lucien,” Cassian grinned. Sometimes it was eery just how much he and his son looked alike.

“They’re both so young,” Feyre sighed, leaning her head against Rhys’s shoulder.

“You’re young too,” Rhys reminded her.

“Not that young,” Feyre wrinkled her nose. She smiled and pushed his head away as he leaned down and kissed her neck. “He inherited _your_ fuck and fight instincts.”

“Speaking of, about time I picked a fight with Tamlin, isn’t it?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Or …”

“Hands off,” Feyre lit a little flame that flared up his sleeves. Rhys gave a start and stepped back. “You haven’t earned that.”

Cassian laughed loudly enough that people turned to look. Nesta just smiled and pulled him down into the dancing. Feyre turned back to smirk at her husband.

“You’re embarrassing me, mate,” Rhys said gruffly. Feyre smiled, leaning back against the railing.

“And I will continue to do so until I decide to poison you in your sleep, husband,” she said flatly. Rhys grinned and bent to kiss her before wandering off. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to talk to Tamlin.”

“Are you sure you can handle that without gloating or having a heart attack if I’ve moved a single inch before you return?” Feyre caught his arm, nervously pulling him back to her. He scanned her face for a long moment.

“Everything will be fine,” Rhys said quietly. “You have no need to worry.”

“Last time, you nearly killed Cassian for staring at my breasts,” Feyre swallowed. “What’ll you do to a stranger?”

“I have more practice-“

“It’s been nearly twenty years since then.”

“And I have more than established what happens to people who stare at my mate in that time,” Rhys kissed her forehead. “Come dance.”

“My feet hurt enough as it is.”

“Fine. I’m going to talk to Tamlin.”

“I love you.”

“I know you do,” Rhys’s hand slid over her waist to her stomach and he kissed her once more, pulling lightly at her dress.

“Definitely haven’t earned it,” Feyre murmured, pushing him away. He chuckled and gave her a rude hand gesture before taking the steps two at a time. Feyre turned back to lean her elbows on the railing like she had before, watching the dancers spin round and round and round.

A burst of nausea rippled through her and she looked away, trying to find her sister and General.

–:–:–:–

“Don’t tell me you used your cousin just to scare me off,” Aelia said coarsely. The ball’s venue was exemplary. Situated at the base of the Dawn Court’s palace, the room had enough sides that it almost appeared circular. Hundreds of faelights flickered off of crystal chandeliers, bathing the room in a warm golden glow. One half of the room was surrounded by a long, dark hallway, the other glass doors leading out to the gardens.

Israen still managed to fit in with all the light. He wore gleaming black Illyrian armor and six Siphons—more than the last time she’d seen him. They glowed emerald green, just like his eyes. Aelia tossed her long silver hair over her shoulder as he slipped around her.

“I like your dress,” he said quietly. “It’s new.”

Her dress had open diamonds on the tightly fitted bodice where her dark skin showed; the largest over her navel and stretching up to come to a pointed end between her breasts. The back had smaller diamonds, one for each disk of her spine. She could feel his eyes lingering on the tiny patch of skin that was technically the underside of each breast. New territory for him to explore.

She grabbed his wrist to pull his circling to a stop. She eyed the gleaming tips of his wings, a smile tugging at her lips as she tapped the similar claws on his mask. She liked his jaw most of all, she’d decided. She’d had quite a bit of time to think about it. “What do you want, Israen?”

He leaned close enough that his breath tickled her ear, “I want to fuck you into the wall until the sun rises.”

“Illyrian fool,” Aelia reached for his wing, but he grabbed her wrist, dark promise in his eyes. Last time they’d played he hadn’t even taken his clothes off. Although, they rarely wasted time fully removing any clothes in the first place. Aelia had never done much more than surrender a few lacy undergarments and hike up her skirts. She knew it drove him mad and that was half the fun of it.

“I’m learning,” he said with the grin that sent fire through her every damn time. Aelia glanced over her shoulder and found her father’s eyes on her. She sent a half-wince, half-smile his way. He sighed and turned away to grab a glass of wine.

“At least your father doesn’t object,” Israen said quietly.

“Mother is pregnant again,” Aelia said tightly. She wasn’t powerful enough to warrant marriage to one of the High Lord’s heirs. And glad of it, if she was honest. Lyssa was looking to be the first High Lady of Spring, if her parents allowed it. “He won’t leave her side here, even to drag _you_ out of my bed.”

“You think we’ll make it to a bed this time?” Israen kissed her cheek gently. There was always such mischief in his eyes. She shook her head and trailed a hand down his chest.

“Not when you’ve promised me a wall, Israen,” she kissed his jaw halfway between his ear and his chin and stepped away, giving him a sultry look over her shoulder as she moved toward the dark hallway. She could feel him following her.

“We’ve already done the wall,” he said lowly, his hand slipping around her waist easily as they moved around the edge of the dancing.

“There are exceptions to every rule,” Aelia said.

The first rule had been refraining from giving one another their names. That had gone out the window on their second encounter. The second rule had been never in sight of others. They played fast and loose with that one too, because sometimes, secluded hallways were just so much easier to find than empty, unlocked rooms. No meetings outside formal functions; Israen had become an artist at sneaking into Adriata on a dull night. No escorting one another to formal functions; Aelia had pleaded with him to invite her to the Nynsar celebrations in the Night Court. No communication beyond their little meetings; they passed magical notes like naughty children. No exclusivity or possessiveness; Aelia strongly believed that Israen had fucked her outside of a tavern so he could keep an eye on the asshole that had suggested she sit on him instead. No feelings …

Aelia suspected that one had been broken too.

—:—:—:—

“Who is that talking to Lyssa?” Arrianne asked, settling a hand on Tamlin’s arm. His eyes drifted away from her to their daughter. He swallowed the urge to clench his fists. As much as he disliked the Night Court, he wouldn’t do this, not here. The boy would stay in line. Lyssa could take care of herself, he’d made sure of that. Besides, if he stepped in and Lyssa didn’t want him to, she’d spend the whole season in the Summer Court with Aelia, doing Cauldron knew what. Most likely spending time with Aelia’s lover and his cousin, which was _not_ a solution at all. Better the one night.

“Rhys’s son,” he grunted.

“That’s … They’re a good match,” Arrianne sighed.

“I don’t care about matches,” Tamlin said, kissing the back of her hand. “Stop listening to your mother about who Lyssa is _well-matched_ with.”

“We were well-matched according to my mother,” Arrianne reminded him.

“Yes, and it was all the more terrifying when I realized I loved you because you said you didn’t want love from me,” Tamlin pointed out.

“I didn’t say that,” she laughed. Tamlin smiled and drew her against him. She swatted his arm, “Lucien.”

Tamlin was forced once more to tear his eyes away from his wife. Lucien was wearing dark grey; not quite matching the rest of the Night Court retinue. His mate wore a rich purple that almost complimented his red hair. Tamlin reached around his wife to clasp Lucien’s hand. Elain kissed both of Arrianne’s cheeks.

“I heard your nephew shattered his Siphons this past week. How many is that now, five?” Arrianne asked.

“He’s wearing six tonight,” Lucien said. Tamlin nodded awkwardly. Just because things were better didn’t mean they were necessarily good.

“How’s Lily?” Tamlin asked, grateful that he and Lucien had recently developed something they shared: headstrong daughters.

“She’s doing well,” Elain said, her quiet pride almost identical to Arrianne’s whenever Lyssa was brought up. Tamlin smiled. It was hard not to around Elain. “She’s a very good reader.”

“She keeps setting the gardens on fire,” Lucien chuckled.

“You should bring her to visit sometime,” Tamlin said, earning him another swat from his wife. That made five that evening alone. “ _So_ that she could meet Lyssa. They’d get on well.”

“I suppose all that breeding for power has finally come to haunt us breeders,” Arrianne said. Elain laughed brightly.

“These kids, Tam,” Lucien shook his head, his laughter far from joyous. “I’ve got Feyre’s son kicking my ass in sparring. He’s _nineteen_. And he doesn’t even use his abilities.”

“Does he have wings like Rhys?”

“No,” Elain smiled. “He didn’t inherit the shape shifting or natural Illyrian wings.”

—:—:—:—

“I’m used to being alone.”

“But you don’t want to be?”

“It’s safer if I am.”

“For them? What do you do to them, my lady, that makes them need to run?” He wanted to step closer to her. Her mask was a thin plate of gold, etched and molded so it looked like a twisting rose bush. Casrien wondered why they even bothered with the flowers. Her eyes were darker green than his cousin’s. Between them and her painted lips, his eyes never strayed far from her face.

“You don’t want to find out,” she purred, coming closer to him herself. She touched his black tunic gently, tracing a line of silver thread over to his arms.

“Try me,” Casrien grinned back, moving closer still. “Most the people here are as dangerous as they are beautiful, and that makes you exceptionally thrilling.”

“I don’t want to ruin your pretty face,” Her nails dug into his bicep hard enough that he made a slight effort not to flinch. She was the first female he’d talked to that night that didn’t have a whiff of fear in her scent. She’d been bored before, but she was warming to him.

"Well, clearly I’m bothering you,” Casrien took a step back. He winked, “And I’m not going to let some Day Court fool use me to get into your good graces. You’ll have to excuse me.”

“What if I don’t?” She raised her eyebrow. Casrien grinned wider. He loved it when a gamble payed off.

“I’m completely at your mercy, my lady,” he said lowly, sketching a small bow for her. She was biting her lip when he straightened. “What should you like me to do?”

“Tell me your name.”

“And ruin my fun? Not a chance, my lady,” Casrien smiled. Her light green dress with it’s pale pink detailing and her golden mask was undoubtedly Spring Court. He wouldn’t put it past them to have forbidden their subjects from getting too close to the volatile heir presumptive of the Night Court.

“How else am I to gossip to all my friends about you?” She asked.

“We haven’t done anything worth gossiping about yet, my lady,” Casrien smirked. “And Aelia knows exactly who I am.”

“But you aren’t _her_ Night Court lover,” the female touched his chest carefully, her gloves sliding over the material of his tunic smoothly. “That Illyrian is simply ravenous.”

“You’ve nothing to say that I’m not the same,” Casrien whispered in her ear. Aelia had been trying to embarrass the Spring female before, but that was nothing compared to the blush that lit up her face at his words.

“I don’t like you,” she whispered back, arousal heavy in her scent.

“You don’t have to like me to fuck me,” Casrien chuckled. “My lady.”

“Look at you,” she smiled broadly, hand smoothing down his chest. Casrien didn’t mind the proprietary touch, especially when her eyes glazed as she felt the tense strength in his core. “Dressed so elegantly, hair perfect, and all to hide the crass little warrior beneath.”

Casrien touched her waist gently, pulling her towards him just enough. “You’d like to ruin my perfect hair, wouldn’t you?” She hummed in agreement as Casrien’s other hand took hers. He swayed just enough that they could be vaguely considered dancing. “And take off my elegant clothes.”

“Perhaps another time,” she said, dipping her head to rest on his chest. “Lord Thesan closed off all the guest suites on this floor. I suspect it was to get at Lord Helion.”

“Despicable,” Casrien answered. “As it is, we have four High Lords watching us right now.”

“Which ones?” she said, a tightness falling over her full lips.

“Night, Autumn, Day, and Winter … Well, technically,” Casrien smiled. He nearly slipped and admitted to his heritage, but he dragged himself out of his staring enough to say, “The Cursebreaker and Aunt Viv are High Ladies.”

"The Morrigan doesn’t have a son,” the hand resting on his shoulder pulled at a strand of his hair lightly. Casrien wished he had enough control of his power to get her to release it without shattering her hand. Even that light touch was making it incredibly difficult to think.

“Come on, my lady,” Casrien grinned. “You know who I am. You know why my aunt and uncle are distracting your father.”

“Say my name, Casrien.”

He said under his breath. “I’ll say your name as much as you want, but before I do, we’re going to need to leave the prying eyes behind us, Lyssa.”

"I’m not entirely sure you’re worth the trouble,” Lyssa said, giving him a dark look. Casrien pulled away from her slightly, letting their half-assed dancing end.

“You’ll have to find out for yourself,” he gave a sharp pull on her hand that had scales crawling over his skin. He grinned as they faded, her eyes having gone wide. She pulled out of his grasp. “Lyssa, I don’t give a damn about the shape shifting.”

“And if I turn you into a newt?”

“I’ll get better.”

—:—:—:—

“I swear to the Mother-” Aelia gasped, her head falling forward onto Israen’s shoulder as his fingers moved against her. “ _Israen_.”

“Yes, Aelia?” Cauldron damn that infernal chuckle. Israen had taken the opportunity of all her exposed skin to slip his hand down her dress and push aside her undergarments. She couldn’t imagine it looked very discreet.

“Someone will see,” she bit her lip to muffle her moan. Usually, she used his shoulder, but it wasn’t strictly possible with his armor. He was the Commander, son of the General tonight, in honor of the celebration being for the War of the Cauldron. Usually, he was dressed as elegantly as his High Lord and cousin at this sort of function, or as haphazardly as any wandering rogue at any of their other meetings. He pulled at her hair with his unoccupied hand and kissed her as he brought her to the edge of shattering.

She had started to hate kissing Israen. It felt like too much; too much heat, too much intimacy, too much responsibility. He wasn’t bad at it. He tortured her with it, because she knew what his tongue did between her legs and he reminded her of it each time his lips crashed into hers. It made her more loath to let him out of her sight every time he entered it, and that, perhaps, was the biggest reason to hate it. Because her father would never forbid her from marrying for love, but she would never hurt her Court by tarnishing a chance at an alliance with her marriage.

And allying the Summer Court with the Night Court through marriage was the last thing on any given person’s mind. Her father already was allied with the Night Court.

So, naturally, Aelia gripped Israen’s arm to pull him closer as she climaxed under his attentions. She slumped forward into him, pleased that the darkness around them was deepened by the shadow of his beautiful wings.

“Come home with me,” Israen said quietly.

“Don’t,” Aelia panted, looping her arms around his neck. Sleeping _next_ to him … Cauldron, why tonight, of all nights, would he suggest it? “You know we shouldn’t.”

"Is this really all you want from me?” Israen asked, pulling his fingers out of her dress carefully. Aelia watched as he brought them to his mouth and waited for her answer.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. _Liar_. “But … I don’t know.”

If she said the words, there wouldn’t be any more leaving parties for a half hour or so and then returning as abruptly as they had left. There would be no more magical notes where Israen doodled the expression she made when she reached ecstasy to the side of his most suggestive words. There would be no sneaking out into the city at midnight to find him in some seedy tavern. Because if she said those words, Israen might do that _thing_ males did where they started doting on her, and all the careless, reckless energy would fizzle away.

It wasn’t a risk she was going to take.

“Aelia,” he said, touching her cheek. His dark hair was slowly escaping its wolf tail. She kissed him before she could think better of it. She’d never liked something she also hated before. “You’re beautiful.”

“I know,” she said with a smile. He pressed his body against hers, pushing her into the wall again. Her chest tightened, “Israen. Not here.”

“Let me take you home for the night,” he kissed along her jaw to her ear. “I’ve had you in a chair and on a couch and atop a table—and a roof—and against a wall and even in the sea, but I want to _bed_ you, properly.”

“I thought you were going to fuck me into the wall,” Aelia murmured. That was, by far, her favorite from the past few months. She doubted it had anything to do with the fact that that was the night he told her he couldn’t even look at other females because of her.

“I changed my mind,” he chuckled again. Aelia moaned and let him kiss her. Cauldron, she needed that tongue between her thighs. “Please?”

“I thought Illyrians didn’t beg,” Aelia smirked. She wasn’t going to stop him, however. Let him think he had convinced her, rather than think she had been hoping for the opportunity for weeks.

“I have to balance out all your begging occasionally,” he smiled right back, that predator’s grin that came directly from his father. If Nesta fucking Archeron hadn’t been able to withstand it, what hope did she have?

“I can’t winnow someplace I haven’t been,” Aelia hummed. Actually, she couldn’t winnow someplace she couldn’t see, but the words were too embarrassing to admit to more than once to the same person.

“I know,” Israen said, pulling her closer. Understanding. It had always been one of the finer things Israen had to offer. “May I?”

“Shouldn’t you tell your parents?”

“They like you enough that I’d be grounded if we _didn’t_ mysteriously disappear,” he breathed into her ear. “How many months have we been doing this? They’d wonder if you’d finally had enough.”

“I’m not even close,” Aelia grinned. “Take me home with you, _Commander_.” He bit her ear before pulling away. He enjoyed hearing his title almost as much as she liked saying it. Israen closed his eyes.

They didn’t move.

"Israen?” She touched his jaw as his eyes closed tighter. He took a sharp breath and pinned her to the wall with his body, his head turned as his wings flung themselves out to protect her. She knew the strength of those wings, but also their sensitivity. “Israen!”

“I can’t winnow.”

Aelia looked down the hall a little ways and thought of folding herself inwards, making herself so small and insignificant that even space itself would allow her to slip by unnoticed. For the first time in ten years, she didn’t winnow when she tried.

“Neither can I.”

Israen had drawn his sword before she finished speaking.

—:—:—:—

Lyssa closed her eyes, her heart thundering. His nose was brushing against her neck, his breath was in her ear. He smelled so damn good. Better than any male she’d had before, which was an admittedly short list. Especially considering her father’s habit of breaking bones on her behalf. He’d stopped after she shouted at him. For the third time.

Casrien had pulled her over to the dark stretch of hallway where they were out of sight of prying eyes. Where he could tease her like a fool instead of giving her what she wanted.

“Casrien?”

“Mmm,” his hum made her open her eyes.

“Kiss me,” she said quietly, twisting her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“No,” he smiled against her jaw.

“Why not?” Lyssa breathed.

“We do things a little differently in the Night Court,” Casrien dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “We wait for people to beg.”

“I’m not from the Night Court,” Lyssa said, her breathing labored enough that Casrien smirked. “We don’t beg in the Spring Court.”

“Perhaps I should teach you.”

“You’d be more manageable as a newt,” Lyssa snapped.

“Probably,” he admitted.

—:—:—:—

Casrien paused, pulling back slightly as a vision seared through his mind. Screaming and panic. His father holding his mother as she bled onto the marble floor. Uncle Az wielding Truth-Teller against a shadowy flame.

“What is it?” Lyssa asked quietly, touching his chin. He stepped away, feeling his power surge along his bones. He looked toward the raised platform his parents had stood on. His mother was alone, his father moving toward the High Lord of Spring. He took several steps toward her, only to hit a wall of hardened air. They’d blocked off the dancers, his power stretching around the wall—there was no way through.

_“Mother!”_ Casrien screamed. She whirled toward him as his darkness seeped into the room, past the hardened air, shutting out the golden light. Screams rang out as it covered everything. He battered the shield before him until it shattered. He looked back at Lyssa, “Stay close.” He held out his hand. She hesitated all of a moment before taking it. He pulled her through the darkness, knowing the way to his family as though he could truly see through the darkness. People stumbled into them, but they were infrequent.

Casrien had learned long ago that in times of trouble, his best friend was darkness. His family was uniquely capable of surviving it, and his enemies were slowed by it. It gave them an advantage, so until he found his mother, he was going to keep the room dark.

“Casrien!” He turned toward his cousin’s shout on instinct. Israen’s Siphons were glowing bright green in the dark, one of very few sources of light. He had six now. Unlike Uncle Cassian, his power had been steadily growing. Because of whatever Aunt Nesta was, he had Illyrian powers but … they were still different from regular Illyrians. Half-breed, the camp Lords all called him. Israen wore the slur like a grand title.

“Israen!” Casrien called back. Lyssa gripped his hand tighter. Her face had gone pale beneath her mask. “You all right?”

“My father,” she said quietly. Israen reached out and grasped Casrien’s forearm.

“What happened?!”

_“FEYRE!”_ His father’s roar cut through the darkness like a knife.

“Go!” Casrien shoved Israen forward. Ice crept over the floor with every step he took. Lyssa growled low in the back of her throat. He glanced back at her to see her eyes glowing like an animal’s. He would’ve been more surprised if his mother hadn’t terrified him with the same trick for years.

Something slammed into Casrien. He twisted, letting go of Lyssa to slam his knee into the form struggling to knock him down. There was a quiet wheeze so he repeated the motion and shoved them away.

“No!” There was a flash of light, even in the dark. Lyssa’s hands found his arm. Talons dug into his tunic. Casrien reeled the dark around them back.

Three High Fae wielding swords of an odd blue stone faced them. Casrien’s magic thrashed at the ancient feel of that stone. Lyssa stepped forward and snapped her fingers. One turned into a rabbit, joining a second on the floor.

“Now that’s just rude,” Lyssa and Casrien positioned themselves so they were back to back. Four more High Fae lingered on their other side. Casrien tilted his head. Three of them dissolved into red mist, their swords clattering to the ground. “Hasn’t anyone taught you manners?”

“I know you,” Casrien gasped, pressing farther into Lyssa. He’d never seen the High Fae alone before, he was always with-

“Wouldn’t be fun if you didn’t.”

Casrien summoned ice to his side, blocking the first swing of that odd blue-stone sword. Even when he wasn’t in danger, ice weaponry was the only magic he could summon somewhat reliably.

The blue-stone swept clean through the ice. Illyrian steel couldn’t do that, he’d- he’d nearly beaten Uncle Cassian in a duel with an ice sword-

Something dropped onto him from above. Casrien tried to throw it off, staggering a step away from Lyssa. Her growling turned feral as a female screamed nearby. Casrien managed to throw the small, leafy Nature Fae off him, drawing more ice to his side. He scanned the darkness for his cousin’s lover.

“Casrien!” Lyssa snapped, ducking a blow from one of the soldiers. Casrien staggered toward her, drawing up ice to keep the Nature Fae from overwhelming him. They were … multiplying. He tried to shove the illusion from his mind. The forms merely flickered. Lyssa gripped his forearm tightly. “What the hell is happening?”

“Just a little keepsake from the past,” said the auburn-haired High Fae. He held up his palm, blue dust scattering through the air as he did. “Modified though it may be.”

Casrien’s powers went out, one by one. Nausea rolled through him hard enough that he collapsed, hardly able to see the boot that came down over him.

—:—:—:—

“Aelia!” Israen shouted. He’d ordered her to stay put before seeking out Uncle Rhys. He turned, no longer moving toward the dais where his family had no doubt congregated. She screamed again and he broke into a blind sprint. He’d been hearing people winnow, felt the pull of magic. And yet he could not. He drew two daggers as he ran. The darkness was his oldest companion. He’d lived and breathed it since his birth. He’d killed in it and loved in it.

Loved _her_ in it.

“Israen!” His Siphons flared as a broad shield of translucent green blocked two ash arrows. Israen snarled and launched his daggers at their sources. Aelia’s relieved gasp and stumble drew him forward. It had just been two then. He hoped they were dying slowly, but a quick spin showed them gone completely.

Aelia’s dress was torn to the point of indecency, the tiny strips of fabric that had shown a glorious amount of skin ripped. It was an effort not to distract himself with all the exposed skin. Israen grabbed her shoulders and trailed his fingers over the scratches on her skin, hating her pained breaths. “Israen.”

“Winnow home. _Now_.” Where she couldn’t distract him. Where she would be safe. Far away from him and his family.

“No,” she said stubbornly. He cursed her, then himself, then her again. He needed to get back to his family, but he refused to leave her like this. Or at all. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Where is your father?” Israen demanded. Tarquin was unusually powerful, he had no doubt Aelia would be safe with him. Powerful without a target was exactly what she needed. He didn’t fit that, and likely never would.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I don’t care, either.”

_No, no, no_. She knew what she was doing, she knew what her words meant, even if she wasn’t saying the ones she always avoided voicing aloud.

“Aelia, please, go home-”

“I wouldn’t even if I could,” her voice broke. Damn him, he’d forgotten how short a distance she could winnow. Even though the dark was persistent as ever, he could see the light in her eyes.

_“Aelia,”_ he sighed, letting her intertwine her fingers with his. Israen dropped his forehead against hers carefully.

The darkness fell away. Israen bound her dress with a thread of his power as her face turned red and she brought her hands up to cover herself. He turned and scanned the room. There were shattered glasses, spilled wine, broken masks … No more dancers or musicians. Only a small collection of people clad in black and the High Lord of Spring remained.

“Lyssa!” Aelia shouted, the first sound save low murmuring in the too bright room. Israen swept her into his arms and flew toward his family.

“Casrien!” His father’s voice boomed through the hall. As Israen landed, he demanded, “Where is he?!”

“I don’t know!”

“I can’t winnow,” Aunt Feyre said quietly. She was sitting on the floor, a huge gash down her side and abdomen. Israen set Aelia down and held her as she cringed away from the sight. Israen had seen worse, but he still went pale.

“Of course you can’t fucking winnow,” Uncle Rhys hissed, his hands covering most of her wounds. His father knelt beside Uncle Rhys.

“I can’t either,” Uncle Lucien muttered. This was met by a pause.

“Nor can Aelia or I,” Israen reported. “We noticed it before Casrien threw the darkness, I was coming to find you.”

And instead had returned to Aelia.

Steps sounded on the marble. Israen turned to see the High Lord of Spring running across the empty room, shucking off the outer layer of his tunic. His father watched the blond man as he let the mask drop from where it rested atop his head. He took the steps up two at a time. The High Lord passed his tunic to Aelia. Israen moved to shield her from sight as she pulled it over her head.

“Where did they go?” He demanded.

“Casrien can’t winnow yet,” Aunt Feyre groaned. Uncle Rhys was holding her together almost literally, blood soaking through his hands. “ _He_ didn’t take her.”

“THESAN, _GET OUT HERE,_ YOU USELESS FOOL!”

“Neither can Lyssa.”

“What the hell is going on?” Israen’s mother snapped.

“I have no idea,” the High Lord of Spring snarled back at her.

“Well, of course _you_ don’t!”

“Nesta,” Aunt Elain said quietly. She groaned, touching her head. Uncle Lucien took her shoulders to keep her steady. He always did that when she had a vision. Israen would do it for Casrien whenever they were near enough and he had one.

“Elain, what did you see?” Uncle Lucien asked quietly.

“It’s dark. Casrien’s not moving,” she gasped, eyes still unfocused.

“No,” Aunt Feyre moaned, her head falling back against the marble. “Rhys-”

_“THESAN!”_ Rhys bellowed. “Feyre, it’ll be all right, we’ll find him.”

“My wife had no trouble winnowing,” Tamlin said quietly. “Nor did anyone else.”

“Yes, it’s a clever little trap for the Night Court,” Israen’s mother said quietly. “And you, for some reason.”

—:—:—:—

Lucien tried to tune out Tamlin and Nesta’s bickering. Elain’s eyes were still focused on something far away.

“Azriel,” Elain murmured. Lucien’s heart seized. He trusted the Illyrian more than he cared to admit, more than the rest of the Inner Circle if he was honest. He’d trusted the shadowsinger with the most precious thing he had: his daughter. Elain’s eyes snapped to his and she gripped his tunic in her hands. _“Lily!”_

“No,” Lucien’s arms slid around her as she began to sob. “No, what did you see? What did you see?!”

“Our baby,” Elain cried. “They took our baby.”

“Not yet,” Lucien said, letting Nesta pull Elain away. “Rhys, take me home.”

_Home_. Tamlin flinched at the word. The Night Court had become Lucien’s home and he didn’t even know how or when and it didn’t matter anyway. They weren’t getting Lily, he wasn’t going to let them.

“Rhys, _go_ ,” Feyre pushed him weakly as Cassian began his rudimentary healing. Rhys looked ready to murder him just for being near her.

“I can’t leave you,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Yes, you can. It’s _Lily_ , you have to,” Feyre pushed him again. The High Lord kissed her for a long moment, eyes glassy as his hand lingered at her abdomen. Feyre wiped under his eyes with a miraculously clean hand. Rhys swallowed and stood, and Lucien felt the pulse of power as Rhys shattered whatever ward was keeping them there. Lucien winnowed to his side. They punched through darkness, landing outside the little house just barely within Velaris’s protection. They lived farthest from the House of Wind, across the Sindra. Lucien tore up the small path through the garden to the porch, then shouldered his way past the door.

“Lily!” He bellowed. Up the stairs was her room. She should be asleep, in her bed. Surrounded by as many stuffed animals as could be gifted or bought in six years. He sprinted to the top of them, fire already racing up his arms from his hands.

“Daddy!” He crashed into the table at the turn in the hall, shoving himself faster and kicking open the door to her room.

There was a flash of teeth and fire as the male disappeared, Lily in his arms.

“No,” Lucien pushed to the window and looked out the front yard. Again, that damned grin before flashing out of sight again. “No!”

He punched his fist through the window, wincing as molten glass dripped down his hand.

“Lucien?!”

“Where the fuck is Azriel?!” He yelled back. He knew he was leaving soot on the carpets, and as much as Elain usually harassed him and Lily about it, he really didn’t give a damn. He flew down the stairs, following Rhys’s scent around to the sitting room.

Azriel’s shadows were thicker than Lucien had ever seen before. He couldn’t see much of either Illyrian, tendrils of whispering darkness growing erratically through the air.

“Winnow to Gatha! I don’t know what they did to him but he’s not breathing!”


	3. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prythian and her leaders scramble to protect themselves and those they love.

“They’ll find her,” Nesta said quietly. Elain was still crying. She glared at Tamlin over her sister’s head.

“Why?” Aelia asked. “Why Cas and Lyssa and Lily?”

“They tried to take you, too,” Israen said gently. He would not forget that when they found the bastards who had done this. Nesta knew it in her heart.

“The children of the High Lords,” Tamlin said. “And, I suppose … Grandchild.”

Elain was hardly even breathing, so great her shaking had become. Nesta eased her to the ground, sitting beside her, holding her still. “This is why we didn’t bring any of them to formal events. It’s been, what, half a year since they’ve been allowed, and _this_ happens?!”

“This is Lyssa’s first,” Tamlin said quietly. “They might’ve been waiting.“

“Lucien isn’t even the heir to the Autumn Court,“ Cassian shook his head, "It doesn’t make any sense to take Lily.”

"You’re still here.”

Nesta seethed at their host, “Of course we’re _still here_ , Thesan, my sister needs your skill.”

His husband or mate or lover or whoever the winged male was snarled at Nesta and she snarled back. Thesan touched his lover’s arm in warning. Cassian monitored the ordeal carefully.

“Move aside,“ the High Lord knelt beside her sister. Nesta kissed the top of Elain’s head and swayed with her slightly.

"If they couldn’t- Israen, my mother,” Aelia gripped his arm. Elain quieted, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“I can’t see it. I can’t see anything.”

“Where are they staying?”

“We- We were supposed to leave Adriata in the morning,” Aelia answered. They usually didn’t stay so late in the season, but Aelia’s determination not to look at Israen told Nesta enough about that. Nesta kissed Elain’s brow again and slipped to her feet, taking Aelia’s hand.

Cassian kissed her roughly, much to their son’s displeasure, and stepped back. “Holler down the bond.”

“I will,” she answered.

Nesta hadn’t enjoyed learning to winnow, but she’d more than loved lording her skill in it over even Feyre’s head. She could travel as far and fast as her brother-in-law—the big, scary, loud one.

Adriata was a breeze to reach from Dawn, especially compared to Velaris. Technically, Cassian was banned from entering. This time it had been a drunken brawl with her. Tarquin had not blamed her, and banished Cassian mostly as a joke (at this point, all three of them plus Sonya had been drunk). This had been long before Israen took to sneaking into the city. Tarquin hadn’t brought it up, so neither had Nesta. It would’ve driven Varian mad, _if_ he ever raised his head high enough from between Amren’s legs to see it.

“Aelia!” Tarquin rushed forward, embracing her as soon as Nesta and Israen released her. “I was worried.”

“Where’s Mother?” Aelia demanded.

“Cresseida and Amren are with her, they’re fine,” Nesta would not have liked to be alone in a room with the two of them. Tarquin smoothed the hair shining silver in the starlight away from his daughter’s face. “I thought you were safe.”

“I was,” Aelia said. “I am.”

“Then why is your dress ruined? I can smell the blood on you,” Tarquin insisted. Cauldron, he was a fusser. When _didn’t_ Israen smell like blood? Only when he smelt of Aelia and sex. Cassian all but encouraged it directly.

“They tried to take me. Israen stopped them.”

“They- who?”

“We aren’t sure yet,” Nesta said before Aelia could speak. “They’ve managed to get a hold of Casrien and Lyssa.” Tarquin winced, letting go of Aelia. “It looks like they’re after the heirs.”

“Aelia, I want you to stay here,” Tarquin said quietly.

“I’m going to help them find Lyssa and Casrien,” Aelia said, shaking her head. “I can’t just stay here when I know … They need our help.”

“Aelia, you should stay with your family,” Israen said. Nesta sighed and looked away from the pair. She hadn’t wanted to share her son with anyone for the longest time. But Aelia she found herself liking, despite her best efforts. And not only because she looked at Israen the same way he looked at her.

“Tarquin, they surprised us once. They won’t do it again. She’ll be safe with us,” Nesta assured him.

“Don’t side with her!” Israen hit her shoulder hard enough that it smarted just a little. Nesta glared at him and stepped closer to Aelia.

“Keep an eye on Sonya. We have no idea the lengths they’re willing to go to or their purpose,” Nesta said. Aelia’s hand fit into hers.

“I’ll keep her safe, my lord,” Israen said. “I’ll bring her back.”

"It comes out of your hide if you don’t,” Tarquin nodded just once, trying to scare Israen. He held out his arm, and Israen clasped it. They gave each other a solemn look before Nesta’s son returned to her side. Israen’s face flickered with pain as they winnowed away. Nesta would’ve rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe the magic counted that as a bargain.

“Nothing from Summer,” Nesta reported as they returned. Cassian pulled her to him again. She gave him a reproachful look and kissed him, biting his lip when he got greedy. _Not now_.

“They must’ve been counting on capturing Aelia,” Cassian said quietly. He clapped Israen on the back, “I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, I saved Aelia and lost Cas. What a hero,” Israen muttered. Nesta frowned as he moved away from Aelia. She stepped away from Cassian to firmly plant herself at the female’s side, giving her son another glare.

“Casrien is more than equipped to take care of himself,” Feyre said. She looked healed. Her dress, unfortunately, did not. Mor would’ve known how to fix it. Unfortunately, she was in Winter with Vivianne’s sister. Nesta didn’t even remember what excuse it was she had given to skip the festivities.

—:—:—:—

Rhys and Lucien returned. Lucien immediately went to Elain, huddling over her as he began apologizing, crying nearly as much as she was. Rhys just shook his head. _Failure_.

“We’re going home now,” Rhys said, his voice tight.

Tamlin started, “Whatever you’re plotting-”

“I’m not-”

“Bullshit, Rhys! You’re letting me in on it!”

“I don’t have to do shit, Tamlin!”

“She’s my daughter!”

“ _My_ son! _My_ niece!” Rhys roared. “She’s six, Tam! What could they possibly want from her?!”

“I can help you and you know it!”

“Go home to your wife,” Rhys said darkly, helping Feyre to stand. Nesta gave Tamlin a scathing look and rolled her eyes.

“Rhys, Feyre-”

“You’re the only High Lord who hasn’t sent an assassin after Cas before. But that doesn’t mean we have reason to trust you any more than we do the others,” Cassian said darkly. Even Tarquin had admitted to sending a mercenary after Casrien and Israen, just to get rid of the nuisance. They’d sent one after Varian in answer.

“I would do anything to get my Lyssa back,” Tamlin said.

_Anything_. He’d promised it before. But his anything hardly measured up to their _everything_.

“I have matters to discuss with my court,” Feyre said coldly. They all grasped one another’s shoulders and winnowed together.

—:—:—:—

“I can fly you up to the House of Wind,” Israen offered, staring up at the sky. Once it had become clear that his family had no intention of risking him to get Cas and Lily back, he had left. Aelia had remained a little while longer. Then Nesta had squeezed her hand and told her it was okay to leave. So she had. Israen didn’t look at her. He hadn’t since they’d arrived in Velaris. “They have guest rooms there.”

“I want to be with you,” she said quietly. She sighed, for she hadn’t exactly meant to phrase it that way. She couldn’t find the courage to deny it, however. Israen didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m supposed to protect my Court, my family, and the citizens of Velaris,” Israen said. “And … I left the heir of my Court to be captured.”

_For her_.

“I’m sorry,” Aelia said quietly. He didn’t speak the words she knew he had to. So she followed his gaze and spoke them herself, “You think this has to stop.”

Aelia didn’t care. It was the cold wind that pulled a tear out of her eye. Israen’s hand slipped into hers and he pulled her into his arms. They took off into the night, Israen’s wings booming. They landed not far on the rooftop patio of another townhouse. Israen waved a hand at the door to open it and carried her inside.

“You can sleep here,” Israen brought her through a door to a room that smelled so thoroughly of him she nearly moaned. His bedroom.

It was tidier than expected, with a massive bed against the wall to the right of the door and little else, save pieces of broken or dented armor atop a dresser. Israen set her down so she was facing him.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he murmured. Aelia stared at the Siphon on his shoulder, the glowing green moving enticingly.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Aelia said. She didn’t think she could be. He could sleep on the floor, but she couldn’t get the feel of those claws digging into her skin out of her mind. She wanted a bath.

“I can’t …” He clenched his jaw and looked toward the floor. Aelia touched his chin lightly, pulling his gaze back to her.

“You would be doing the same thing to yourself if you had stayed with Casrien and lost me,” Aelia said. She kissed him softly. “Stop punishing yourself. You did the best you could.”

“Aelia, I can’t choose you over someone who’s to be my High Lord,” Israen said, eyes on her lips. Aelia didn’t bother to point out that he had. That wasn’t the issue. “Whatever this is, I can’t do it anymore.”

“Israen, please,” Aelia said, her voice breaking. She hated it. She hated him too, for the twisting dread and panic inside of her. She touched his jaw lightly, tilting his head. “Don’t punish yourself for being happy.”

“I’m not,” he said, taking the hand on his face in his own. “Do you have any idea what I felt when I heard you scream?”

No, no, no. He couldn’t do this to her, not now. She could see an echo of those emotions in his eyes. She reclaimed her hand and pulled off the tunic Tamlin had given her.

“I need a bath,” she said quietly. Israen nodded, his eyes on the ceiling. Aelia kissed his exposed neck gently. He groaned and touched her shoulder as though to push her away. The push never came. “You should join me.”

“Aelia,” he said tightly. A warning.

“You’ll kill anyone I take to bed who isn’t you,” Aelia whispered. “You’re a possessive Illyrian fool, which is why you came to me in the first place tonight. I trust you, Israen, more than everyone else. Because you looked for me when I needed you. I don’t care what it all means. I care that you’re making yourself miserable for no reason. If you had stayed with Casrien, they would’ve just killed you or taken us all.”

“Aelia, if it happens again, if they try to take you,” Israen touched his forehead to hers. “I’ll go mad if they hurt you. I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll get you back.”

Aelia kissed him, letting his hands drift under her ass to pull her up against him. Her dress tore once more, and it fell away from her torso, the skirts stubbornly remaining around her waist. She wrapped her legs around him in spite of them. Israen growled lowly and pushed her against the wall. Aelia could’ve sang. Instead, she pulled at his longer hair until they separated, breathing hard.

“You are an addiction,” he grumbled. He nipped at her bottom lip as she tried to reclaim his. “We’ve done the wall before, Aelia. You said at Nynsar, no more repeats until we’d done it all.”

Which had led to her being bent over a desk in the House of Wind. She had been the first outsider to see Starfall from Velaris since Feyre Archeron. It had indeed been a rather memorable night.

“You still want the bed,” Aelia hummed. He smiled and brought up a hand to pull at her nipple gently. “What about my bath?”

“Morning,” he grunted, pressing her further into the wall to kiss her. Her hands found unyielding armor where she wanted warm, corded muscles. She found the Siphons on his hands and tapped them, then waited as the armor folded in. Israen chuckled and stepped back, letting her stand. Her dress pooled at her feet with a sharp movement.

“I can’t believe you wear clothes under all that nonsense,” Aelia pulled his tunic over his head as he kicked off his boots. He picked her up and threw her onto the bed. A startled giggle escaped Aelia, and she scrambled to turn onto her back. Israen joined her moments later, his pants left on the floor. He crawled over her, his wings stretched around them.

There was nothing more satisfying than having him pinned beneath her and groaning as she helped him find completion with his wings alone. He’d often grabbed her wrists so she couldn’t. But they’d already done that.

They hadn’t done it naked or with him inside her, though.

She frowned as her fingers trailed over his chest. Israen had a lot of tattoos, everyone in his family but the Vanserra-Archerons did. But she’d seen him shirtless enough to notice one that hadn’t been there before.

It was shaped like the sun, ink swirling like flowing waves within it. She traced its outline with a finger. It was just over his left pectoral, almost at his collarbone.

“I swore to protect you,” he said quietly. Aelia tried and failed to find the words twice, her gaze flicking between his eyes and that sun. Israen sat back on his feet as she sat up against the headboard.

_I’ll keep her safe_. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, settling her chin between them, watching him.

“What if I don’t want to be the person everyone else has to protect?” she asked. Israen’s jaw tightened and he crossed his arms over his chest. She bit her lip and waited. It mattered, she realized, what he thought. Not much, but still.

“I’ll train you,” Israen offered, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The reverence on his face … He would be good to his word. If only to give himself some peace of mind.

That mattered a lot more to her than Aelia thought it would.

“Really?” Aelia bit her lip and genuinely looked at him. He was very handsome, even for a member of the Night Court. His mother’s lips, his father’s rough beauty, his tanned skin and the dark ink against it. He had a warrior’s strength and a Prince’s posture, even on his knees like he was. Wings of darkest night that seemed to glow when struck by the right kind of light. Without his Siphons. Aelia had never seen him without the flickering green stones that mirrored the color of his eyes. Israen nodded, those brilliant eyes on her lips once more.

“Do you want me to?” He asked, his voice soft and almost timid. Sometimes it was hard to imagine that she was a few years older than him. Other times, it was all too evident. He’d had lovers before her, but neither one had kept one around this long.

Aelia sat forward, spreading her legs and shifting closer to him. She folded her legs like a child and rested her elbows atop her knees, leaning closer still. “Are you going to be able to focus more then than you are now? I don’t think fucking me in the training ring truly counts as training.”

“You smell like sex and you’re naked in my bed,” Israen rose over her, falling against her so she was beneath him. He touched his nose to her neck and took a long breath. “And you don’t quite smell enough like me that my parents will be well and truly mortified at breakfast tomorrow morning.”

_Shit_. This was his parents’s house. They’d be back soon enough. She could not live with herself if they _heard_ her and Israen.

Israen chuckled, twisting so he landed on his side next to her, “There I go, saying too much again.”

“When they leave in the morning,” Aelia said, trailing a hand over the sun, his pecs, his abs, down, down … Until his hips bucked into her touch and she could hardly think through the feel of him in her hand, of wanting him in her body. This was what she needed. She needed to fall asleep so filled with thoughts of Israen that her mind never wandered to the events at the ball. “I’m going to have you begging.”

“I’m not typically the one doing such things,” Israen said tightly, his breaths measured.

"You’re lucky I haven’t decided to play with your wings yet,” Aelia answered, slipping one of her legs between his. She kissed him gently, letting him pull her closer. She didn’t care anymore. She just wanted his hands on her, his body beside hers. She just wanted to forget the entire miserable night, the way he’d abandoned his family for her.

She couldn’t. It screamed at her every time that tattoo shone in the moonlight, with every soft touch his calloused hands made.

They fell asleep beside one another, limbs tangled and locking them together.

—:—:—:—

“Azriel’s going to recover,” Rhys reported. Feyre watched Aelia slip out of the room and crossed her arms over her chest. “Tamlin and Tarquin are both saying the Autumn Court has closed its borders. Kallias is close to doing the same, and Mor is still there trying to convince him not to.”

“My father didn’t close the borders because he’s trying to protect my brothers,” Lucien said quietly. Elain was asleep, her head in his lap where he sat on the couch. He didn’t raise his head. “My brother Derren is the one who took Lily.”

“He doesn’t have enough power-”

“I’m not saying he was alone, but it was him!” Lucien snapped. Elain stirred slightly and he smoothed her hair out of her face. “It was him.”

“They were at the masquerade,” Cassian said quietly. “Eris wasn’t with them.”

“Neither was my mother,” Lucien said.

_Beron knows. This is punishment for his mother and Helion_.

_Helion doesn’t know Lucien is his son_ , Rhys reminded her. _Besides, why bring Cas, Lyssa, and Aelia into it?_

_His sons are all as old as you are. The younger ones have at least an extra generation of power from outside of Autumn_ , Feyre answered. Rhys’s concern drifted through the bond.

“Spit it out,” Nesta ordered, carefully undoing the fancy braids and knots her hair had been swept up into. Cassian was helping her with steady hands.

“Lucien, your mother’s affair with Helion …” Feyre started, rubbing her hand up and down her arm. She waited for Lucien to look up at her. “Your brothers are so much older than you that … It’s possible they took Lily because she is the heir to the Day Court, through you.”

It didn’t happen often, but there had been cases when the power chose a High Lord’s grandson before his sons. Only once had the grandchild survived his uncles, in the Summer Court.

Lucien closed his eyes, his head dropping so his forehead met Elain’s. His ragged breathing filled the room for a long while. "I thought … She’ll glow. I thought it was the fire or Elain.“

Wished, more like.

"We need to rest,” Rhys said. “In the morning, we’ll go to Adriata. I already made arrangements with Tarquin. We’ll find a way into the Autumn Court.”

“How much do you think the other High Lords will complain if I rip out Beron’s throat?” Nesta asked.

“They can’t possibly doubt the Kingslayer,” Cassian was deftly unbraiding a large portion of her hair. She hummed and looked back to kiss him.

“Get out of my house,” Feyre said tightly. Cassian and Nesta went to the roof. Lucien gathered Elain in his arms and walked out the front door before winnowing away.

It wasn’t until Rhys pulled the door shut that Feyre fell to her knees and allowed herself to cry. Rhys knelt beside her, tears in his own eyes. “We’re going to find him.”

“There are days I regret subjecting him to this life,” Feyre whispered. She touched Rhys’s cheek. “Days I just want to be a normal family, without the trips to the Court of Nightmares and the Illyrian Steppes and the other Courts. Days where I wish I didn’t have to come to home and find him explaining to Cassian that he froze an assailant solid and they blew away into snow.”

“I’m sorry,” Rhys said. Feyre kissed him softly.

“I don’t regret you, or him; I couldn’t,” Feyre said, letting her head fall to her mate’s chest. “I knew what it would be like.”

“I had no idea,” Rhys tucked a hand into her hair. “I’m terrified constantly. They nearly killed you tonight. And he was just … _gone_.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t winnow, it threw me off,” Feyre had been cursing herself all night for the stupid mistake. If she hadn’t been hurt, Rhys wouldn’t have been distracted. He would’ve found Cas, brought him back to her. She’d snapped the Fae’s neck with half a thought, but it had been too late. Her blood had spilt and she had felt Rhys’s attention tear away from their son. All because of her _condition_.

“It can’t be your fault and my fault and Israen’s fault all at once,” Rhys said. Feyre laughed humorlessly.

“It _is_. We all failed him, one after the other until he failed himself,” Feyre said. She clenched her fists and looked up at Rhys. “I’m going to find him if I have to raze the Autumn Court to the ground.”

“We’re going to find him,” Rhys confirmed, “And make the ones who took him pay.” He kissed her brow. “But, Feyre—what happened tonight can’t happen again.”

“I know.”

—:—:—:—

“What the hell happened?” Mor demanded, wrapping the (borrowed) robe tighter around herself. Vivianne’s sister was still asleep, but Mor had a feeling she couldn’t shake. It only got worse when her wandering had led her to Vivianne and Kallias fighting. Kallias jumped at her appearance. Vivianne, who was already paler than usual, winced. “Viv?”

“The celebration was attacked,” she said softly. Mor’s heart froze.

“Are they all right?” Vivianne came to her, hugging her tightly. Mor knew what it meant; she knew what the lack of quick assurances meant. She looked at Kallias with wild eyes. _Her nephews_. Nothing else would’ve given him such a grim look. He knew the loss of young ones.

“We still don’t know what all happened,” Vivianne said gently.

“Rhys sent word just now,” Kallias said, his voice colder than usual. “His son and Tamlin’s daughter disappeared from the celebration. And … Lucien’s daughter was taken from their home.”

Mor’s knees gave out. Not just Lily; she’d spoken with Az, he’d taken the excuse not to go to a fancy party and stayed home with the young child. Az wouldn’t have let her out of his sight. Az and Lily and Casrien-

“Israen?” She gasped out, still watching Kallias. He pretended not to care about her family’s children, pretended he didn’t know their names or favorite sweets, that his spies didn’t tell him when one was having a rough day. Vivianne hadn’t given him a child yet, and he pretended he didn’t spoil her family instead.

“Safe.”

Vivianne held her as she tried to reign in her anger and terror. The _children_ , her _family_. “I need to go home.”

—:—:—:—

“Nesta,” Cassian said gently, touching her shoulder. Her fists clenched and unclenched. Cassian kissed the slope of her neck tenderly. “Eat or bed?”

He had asked her the question thousands of times since the War of the Cauldron. She’d chosen one or the other or both or neither. But she had never whispered, “I don’t know.”

“They won’t take Israen. They won’t kill him,” Cassian vowed.

“What about you?” Nesta turned, her eyes alight. “You would choose Casrien and Israen over yourself. And I should too, but-“

“The last War you were only witness to,” Cassian touched her cheek gently. “You didn’t fight in the killing fields, you didn’t have to make these choices—who do you save, who do you leave. Your heart, Nesta, may not feel like you can take it, but you can.”

He kissed her brow. She was silent for a time, her eyes closed. “I would choose Israen.”

“I know,” Cassian said softly. “It’s a good thing I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t know how to help this time. Last time, the Cauldron- but that power is gone—different, at least,” Nesta moved away from him, pacing through the sitting room. Cassian leaned against the archway to the kitchen and waited. Nesta’s thoughts came when she was ready to speak them and not a moment sooner. She paused to look at him. “I really will take his head if he hurts either of them. I don’t care what the others say. I don’t care if it lands me in the Prison and Eris’s shit brothers on the throne. It’s _mine_.”

“I have a feeling we’ll have to cast lots for it,” Cassian said wryly. He didn’t doubt either of his brothers would try to get there first. “It’d make a good gift for little Cas’s birthday.”

“I’m not going to keep it,” Nesta scowled. Cassian chuckled lowly, moving closer to her. Her eyes went wide, sensing his question before it came.

“When Casrien threw the shadows,” Cassian said slowly. Nesta froze, looking up at him slowly. “You pulled me to Feyre. Away from Israen and Casrien.” Nesta held his gaze, unwavering. But she did not speak. “Why?”

“Feyre was hurt.”

“Feyre has nearly a century of killing under her belt. Defending herself. And you just told me that you’d chase after our son over me. I’m a little offended,” Cassian’s eyes scrutinized her face for any flicker of emotion. Nesta was blank. He sent her an image of her blank face melting with pleasure from him. Her cheeks reddened but she did not break. That usually worked. Cassian snarled, “She’s my High Lady. What’s wrong with her?”

“She is my sister, and I am not going to tell you, brute,” Nesta whispered, a slow smirk growing. “Because you cannot make me.”

“I don’t want to make you, I want-“

Nesta pulled down the collar of her dress. Cassian blanched at the half-moon tattoo settled in the curve of her collar bone. Shadows nestled over it, obscuring it and making the bone seem sharper. Cassian hissed. “How long?”

“Not very,” Nesta said coolly. “I’m still disappointed you didn’t even notice, Cassian. But I made a bargain, and you aren’t going to get me to say _shit_.”

Cassian hated how the single, vulgar word had so much control over him. She only cursed when they were alone, when he was inside her or about to be. The mating bond purred. His focus slipped. “Damn you.”

He knew what she was doing. Since they’d first fallen into bed together, she’d done this. When she was too anxious, too close to falling toward madness, when she felt too much, she did _this_. Used sex as a method of distraction. Cassian rarely minded. Feyre and the others typically complained about time and place and other proprietary nonsense. Helion was the only one Cassian had never caught shit from for falling for it every time.

“We have a guest,” Cassian growled. “I don’t want to hear from Tarquin about how we scarred his daughter.”

“You always seem to forget my shielding abilities,” Nesta shook her head, trailing a hand over his chest. He couldn’t forget them, with all they’ve gotten away with. She captured his lips and he grinned against her.

“I think we may have some hand in the nonsense Israen gets up to at formal events.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you couldn't tell, this is all pre-ACoFaS release so uhhhh, just roll with it.


	4. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casrien woke in a cage with a wolf.  
> Israen woke at the start of a chase.  
> Lily woke surrounded by family.

Casrien woke in a cage with a wolf. He jolted at the muted light; flickering torches were spaced opposite him. He could see the damp glistening on ancient stones. Iron bars were around him, a column of brick on the front corners of the doorless wall. The room was symmetrical as far as he could tell, darkened cells, not cages, with a small walkway between them. _Dungeons_. He’d never had the pleasure of staying in one before. The was a damp cold in the air that made his nose wrinkle.

The wolf he was not concerned about. Animals liked him well enough, and besides, this one was sleeping. Its fur was mottled, dark and light all at once, matted down from the moisture in the air and the water puddled on the ground in the lowest parts of the uneven floor. Occasionally, its feet would twitch, but otherwise, it was still but for its breathing.

Casrien groaned, rubbing at a sore spot on his neck. He stood and went to the bars, touching them carefully. They were cold, but nothing else stuck out to him. He felt no magic pulsing down through his bones. Casrien looked back at the wolf and then to the endless dark. There were no doors that he could see, and despite the air’s cold chill, there was no hint of movement.

Casrien’s breathing ratcheted at the thought. Trapped—they were trapped underground. No air, no light, not once those torches ran out. He knew what his mother had been through in a place not too different from this (or he thought he did). He wasn’t his mother, but the air—suffocating wasn’t what he had in mind for the cause of his death. Not to mention a slow suffocation.

No, he couldn’t panic. Magic existed for a damn reason. They wouldn’t have so many cells if they just wanted people to rot away and die alone. It was a holding cell, not a dark trap.

Casrien pulled at his dark hair and spun slowly in a circle, taking in every detail he could. Cursing under his breath, he was still unable to find anything helpful.

Casrien couldn’t winnow. He couldn’t fit between the bars, couldn’t break them down. There was no way out in sight-

If he had been taken, what had happened to Lyssa?

“Shit,” he muttered, grabbing the bars of his cell and squinting into the dark of the others. “Lyssa! You here?”

The wolf growled lowly. Casrien glanced back at it nervously. It shifted its head on the ground slightly. Casrien let out a sigh of relief before one of its eyes opened. He  crouched, trying to make himself nonthreatening. He even held out his hand to help it smell him.

“Easy, boy-” a low snarl ripped out of the creature. “Girl?” An approving huff. “Girl! Easy, girl, I won’t hurt you.”

The wolf yawned, showing off huge white teeth. She turned her head as she regarded him with bright green eyes. She seemed to smile at him, tongue lolling out happily. She climbed to her feet stiffly, then came over to sit before him. She sniffed him for a long moment where Casrien held completely still. Then she ducked her head and nudged his hand. He stroked her fur gently, rubbing behind her ears until her tail thumped.

“Lyssa?” Casrien asked quietly. The wolf licked her nose and did that strange smiling thing again. Casrien laughed, brushing at the fur over her face. “I think I like you better like this- ow!” She’d nipped his hand gently. He waved it in the air for a few seconds with a scowl. She nudged his other but he pushed her away. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Can you shift back?”

The wolf gave him a look that quite clearly said, _No, you idiot._

“So you can’t shift back, I can’t find a way out, and no one seems to be watching us,” Casrien stood, letting his hand drift back to the fur atop her head. He scratched it idly. “I don’t get it.”

Lyssa growled, settling back on her haunches as her lip pulled back. Casrien’s hands stilled.

They winnowed in a moment later. A hooded and masked Fae, carrying a small child in their arms. Strawberry-blonde curls tumbled wildly over the girls face, but there was no mistaking her.

“Lily!” Casrien pressed forward into the bars, reaching through them toward her. He met the Fae’s eyes. “Let her go.”

“Your cousin will be joining you. Away from the bars,” the voice was all wrong, deep and endless but squeaking and scratchy. It must’ve been magically modified. Lyssa snarled at the fool. Casrien tried to push his mind toward Lily’s unsuccessfully. “Now!”

Casrien was blasted backward into the far back wall, which was stone and _really_ just hurt. Casrien crashed to the floor, catching himself on his hands and knees. He pushed to his feet. The man threw Lily at the bars—she simply glided through like Nuala or Cerridwen would’ve. Casrien caught her tiny form, raising his eyes to the Fae, fully planning on ripping out their throat.

They were already gone.

“Lily,” Casrien pulled her wild hair away from her face. She was almost as deeply tan as he was. She spent a lot of time in the sun, practicing with her fire. He was typically training his body. Lyssa nudged him with her snout but he pushed her away, carrying Lily to the far back of the cell, settling her against the wall. “Lily, I need you to wake up.” She didn’t stir. Uselessness and anger poured through Casrien. All the moisture in the room turned into ice without thought. Lily’s breath came in a white puff. “Lily, please, you have to wake up now.”

Lyssa whined at him. _How old?_

“She’s six,” Casrien murmured. He touched her face gently, tapping her cheek. “Lily, come on. Wake up.”

“Fooled you,” she whispered, her lips twitching with a smile. Casrien’s relieved sigh took all the breath from him for a long moment. He pulled her into his chest. The frost and ice melted away.

“And you say _I’m_ trouble,” Casrien muttered, swaying with her. He sighed again, pulling her so he could see her face. Those huge brown eyes threatened to swallow him whole. They could get anyone in Velaris to do her bidding. Casrien was still unsure if there was magic laced behind them. “What happened?”

“I was with Uncle Az and then it all went dark. There were bad people. Daddy was scared. I think they took me, but you’re here,” Lily frowned. “Why would they bring me to you if they were bad?”

“Because they took me, too,” Casrien said quietly. His cousin shook her head. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“You’re too big,” she said simply. Casrien chuckled and let her bury her head against his chest. “I’m scared Cas.”

“I know,” he said softly. Lyssa laid down next to him.

“That’s a big dog,” Lily said, reaching for her before Casrien could advise against it. Lyssa’s tongue darted out to lick her. Lily giggled and pulled her hand back. “Tickles.”

Lyssa smiled and rested her head on Casrien’s outstretched leg. She let out a puff of air. _Now what?_

“I don’t know,” Casrien rubbed behind her ears. Her tail thumped rhythmically on the ground. Lily reached for her again. Casrien caught her hand carefully, “You have to be gentle with the dog, okay? She’s mean and likes to bite.”

The wolf’s eyes rolled. _Only you_.

Casrien grinned and helped his cousin stroke her fur.

—:—:—:—

“Israen,” he groaned sleepily and reached blindly for Aelia. He didn’t want to wake up, or have this conversation or that conversation or any conversation that didn’t end with the two of them completely naked and him torturing her into ecstasy. “Israen!”

He rolled from his stomach to his back, rubbing at his eyes and trying to make them adjust to the warm morning light.

Aelia was standing at the foot of the bed, the shirt she’d stolen barely reaching her thighs. She was too tall for his clothing to look terribly massive on her. Her collar bones were exposed, however, and the regal column of her neck, bruised not from his attentions but harsh fingers. Israen tried to focus on whatever was making her shake like that.

No sign of anyone else in the room. It wasn’t cold, the windows were closed-

The book she had in her hand, one of his favorites, was glittering gold. Israen met her eyes for a fleeting second before returning his eyes to the book. She dropped it on the floor.

Israen rose out of the bed at the metallic clank it made. “What happened?”

“I- I just touched it,” Aelia whispered. Israen bent down to pick it up, pulling it open. It was warm on the cover where she had held it, but was otherwise cool. The words were still quite legible, the pages turned regularly, and the small creases and tears remained. Israen winced as he cut himself on the edge of such a tear.

“This is incredible,” he murmured, standing up and setting it down on his bed. He reached for Aelia but she stepped away.

“I don’t want to- what if you-” she shook her head, still backing toward the door.

“Aelia, it’s all right, it’s just magic,” Israen said calmly. “Weird shit happens all the time around here, trust me.”

He glanced around the room, searching for his pants. He snatched them up from the floor.

Aelia had left the room by the time he turned back around, her feet pounding down the hallway toward the stairs. The door knob was gold, and the door itself was slowly turning metallic the same way water spread through fabric.

“ _Shit_ ,” Israen struggled to pull his pants on as he chased after her, his wings flaring wide to keep him upright. “Aelia!”

She was halfway down the steps by the time he reached the top of them, the door right in front of her. Israen’s parents were murmuring lowly in the dining room, but they quieted as footsteps thundered through the house. It smelled strongly enough of something that Israen didn’t want to think of that he knew it was high time he moved out.

Israen took the entire flight of stairs in one careful jump, his wings guiding him to the ground. Aelia was already through the first door. He shoved it open before it could close fully, chasing her down the steps into the street. If she was dangerous, he couldn’t have her running about in the heart of Velaris.

Israen tackled her with more care than he’d ever tackled anyone before, twisting in midair to cushion her fall against his body—his wings scraped along the road with just enough force for it to sting painfully.

She was freezing. Israen held his breath for a moment as her cold hands pushed against his bare chest. Nothing happened.

“It’s all right,” he promised, touching her face gently. “I’ll be all right.”

The cold seemed to recede back into her, her trembling hands warming against his skin. A finger trailed his sun tattoo. “Are you sure?”

“It’s over,” Israen reached out and pressed a small stone into her hands. It remained rock, simple and entirely worthless.

She was crying as he picked her up and carried her back into the house, the shirt riding up to expose every inch of her long legs. Israen pushed through the still open door and to his gaping parents. His father pulled her out of his arms. His mother shut the door behind him.

“Go sit down,” she ordered, pointing to the sitting room. Israen swallowed.

“Mother, I-”

He winced at the light swat at the back of his head. “You just chased Aelia out of the house, down the street, _tackled her_ and dragged her back, both of you half-naked, so, yes, Israen Azriel Archeron, you _are_ going to explain!”

Israen winced again and sat where instructed. His mother drew a chair up opposite him and glared until he started talking with careful, measured words. It didn’t take long, and it wasn’t as complicated as he thought it would be. But then, of course, she had to ask questions.

“Why didn’t you let her go?”

“She’s never been to Velaris outside the House of Wind without as escort,” Israen said. “And she wasn’t wearing pants. And she was scared so her magic could’ve-”

“Don’t lie to me,” his mother leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. Israen swallowed nervously, well aware that his father was lingering on the stairs with Aelia.

Israen dropped his voice so even he could hardly hear it, “Because she was scared, and I didn’t want her to be alone.”

“Hmm,” his mother tilted her head slightly. “You’re going to go apologize to that poor girl and have a civil conversation with her.”

“Yes, Mother,” Israen sighed, letting relief relax his shoulders.

“Your father and I will be back in a few hours. Don’t leave the house without sending word,” she stood, kissing the top of his head before moving toward the stairs. “Cass, come on.”

His father’s low rumble had Aelia laughing quietly but shakily. Their footsteps travelled up the stairs hastily before moving toward the rooftop garden. Israen stood and rolled his shoulders. He prayed silently and followed Aelia’s scent to the base of the steps, where she sat against the wall.

“I’m sorry,” Israen said, sitting beside her, trying to ignore the awkward positioning of his wings. How had his father sat to avoid discomfort? He flared his wings wide, stretching the muscles as much as he could before allowing them to relax naturally. Better, but not by much. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I could have turned you into a statue,” she said quietly, staring ahead at the closed front door. It was speckled with gold, as though the brief touch hadn’t been enough for anything more.

“You ran out half-naked and out of control, what was I supposed to do?” Israen sighed. “My Siphons are upstairs.”

Every day since the powers had presented, he had been drilled: Siphons first. Illyrians had been killed in bed because they woke too slowly or were distracted by their partner. When the sun rose, the Siphons went on. Then he could return to bed.

It was a miracle he hadn’t shredded apart the street. If she had been scared of anything other than herself, he would’ve. But he’d had focus to spare him.

“They knew,” Aelia said. “They knew, somehow, that I had this ability. That’s why they tried to take me.”

“How could they know if even you don’t? The only Seers in Prythian are- are the Suriels and Aunt Elain,” he needed to be gagged. Cauldron, even though they were in Velaris, he still wasn’t allowed to talk about Casrien’s Sight. Aelia was turning him into an idiot. Israen touched her hand gently, tracing a finger over the smooth skin there. He took it and pressed his lips to the back, closing his eyes as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “No one even knew this power existed. Neither of your parents have it.”

“It might be an old Summer Court ability,” she said quietly. “It might be part of how we gained so much treasure. What if we can create it?”

“I don’t know enough about your Court,” Israen said with a smile. “I just know how to find the High Lord’s daughter at any given time of night. She’s the most valuable thing in the city.”

“You must be an excellent thief, to have taken her so far from her home,” she sighed, pressing a kiss just below his ear. “I’ve never seen your hair down before.”

“I’ve never had you fully naked before,” Israen said. “Seems like a fair trade.”

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that,” her cold grey eyes narrowed. He kissed her softly, the way he had the night before, when he’d had no interest in anything but cheering her up and helping her sleep. It was different from the usual sort they shared, where she bit him and he bit her back and pushed into her hard. Nice, as opposed to … wild.

“I’ve never seen you two days in a row before,” Israen said quietly. He couldn’t explain why, but he did. He kissed the tip of her wide nose and sighed, opening his eyes slowly.

“Let’s go back to bed,” she murmured, her thumb tracing the sun not far from his heart. “We never did anything _fun_ last night.”

“I always have to keep you quiet,” Israen smirked and kissed her because he felt like it. “Not this time.”

“I’m going to ride you like I did the first time,” Aelia bit his lip and pushed against him, her finger nails scraping over his bare chest. His blood heated at the memory alone. They hadn’t even exchanged names when the silver-haired beauty had dragged him down the halls of the Winter Palace into an office and shoved him into a chair, pulling at his belt as his hands explored her with impunity. He’d known vaguely who she was because they had attended the same formal events, eyeing one another across a room without exchanging anything more than winks and smirks. Winter Solstice had changed that. It had never seemed like such a long time ago.

After that, he hadn’t been able to stop. And neither had she.

—:—:—:—

The was no sound to herald their coming, but Lyssa stirred regardless. She licked Casrien’s face, biting his ear carefully, to wake him up. He jolted and scratched the top of her head. She really, _really_ wanted to bite his hand off for treating her like she really was a wolf, but damn if it didn’t feel good.

Casrien smelled like jasmine and lemons and something Lyssa didn’t have the experience to place. It was overpowering Lily’s scent—roses and smoke and apples—along with her own good sense. She knew the girl was cold, so Lyssa had curled up with her, essentially piling on Casrien, who had to be boiling. Lyssa never dreamt in her wolf form, which was the primary reason she always slept as another creature. Before she’d taken to it, she’d often dream of falling through endless night, a dream that shook her so deeply, she’d often crawled into bed with her parents.

“What is it?” Casrien asked, voice thick with sleep. Lyssa got to her feet—paws—nimbly and glared at the bars opposite them. She snarled as she felt a ripple of magic. Lily made a small sound in her sleep as Casrien shifted as well.

She knew the trio that appeared before her. Eris, Beron, and Lady Autumn. She drew back her lip to expose her fangs and growled, shifting to better protect Casrien and Lily. Her father had taught her many things about fighting and protecting herself. Said it was the least he could do to keep the past from repeating itself. Lyssa never asked what he meant by it.

“Eris?” Casrien said quietly, cradling Lily against him. Judging by her breathing she was still asleep.

“Good afternoon, Casrien. Lyssa,” Beron smiled cruelly. Lyssa snapped her teeth. “My, my, quite the echo of your father. Now then, give me the girl, Casrien, and I will not hurt the beast.”

Lyssa yielded a step to get closer to them. Lady Autumn was crying silently, tears dripping freely from her face. Eris’s hands were clenched and shaking, his face strained enough that he looked ready to explode.

“No,” Casrien said strongly. “I don’t care what you do. You can’t have Lily.”

Lyssa wasn’t hurt by the claim. Had she any family save her mother and father, she suspected she would’ve done the same. So she just barked loudly enough that the High Lord of Autumn jumped and moved back another step. She would rip out his throat if he entered the cage. She wouldn’t hesitate.

“Go get your granddaughter,” Beron gestured to his wife. Lyssa snarled again.

“My lord, please,” she whispered. “She’s innocent.”

Lyssa heard her wake mostly because Casrien stopped breathing for several seconds, his heart pounding wildly. Lyssa growled and snapped her teeth, retaking a step forward.

“Cas, who are those people?” Lily asked sleepily. The Lady of Autumn let out a ragged sob. Beron struck her, leaving her to stumble until caught by their son. Lily’s breathing became shaky.

“Go fuck yourself,” Casrien hissed. Lily’s hand slid up to cover his mouth.

“Daddy says that’s a bad word,” she said.

“Beron,” the Lady of Autumn begged. “Please, she’s a child. She’s so young.”

Eris, still holding his mother, said quietly, “I don’t care what Lucien deserves, it has nothing to do with her.”

"Do you know my daddy?” Lily asked. Lyssa let out a puff of breath, pacing sideways so Beron could see those massive brown eyes.  She waited for a long moment. Lily had her mother’s beauty and her father’s way with words. Even Beron was not immune. He swallowed as those eyes consumed him whole.

“If you touch her, Nesta will take a lot longer to kill you than she did Hybern,” Casrien promised quietly. “My mother will help. They will see to it that your legacy is nothing, that the Vanserra’s are all forgotten save Lucien.”

“Lucien is not my son,” Beron spat. Lady Autumn cringed. Lyssa’s snarling faded away into confusion. She had no idea what he was talking about. She looked back at Casrien and found surprise in his eyes but hard determination everywhere else.

“They will forget that too.”

“Such confidence from the little fallen princeling,” Beron sneered, flames curling at his hands. Lyssa readied herself to catch the flames should he throw them toward Casrien and Lily. She didn’t need to; fire sprouted in a thin line around her feet, circling around her so that she couldn’t move. “Give me the girl, Casrien.”

“You really think you’re going to last long against the might of four Courts turned against you?” Casrien hissed. “Against my parents, who have each died for this land? You’re _dead_.”

“Why hasn’t your father waltzed in here yet, Casrien?” Beron grinned. The flames around Lyssa jumped higher, pressed closer. She became very still. “Where is your all-powerful family?” Casrien glowered but gave no answer. Ice crackled at Lyssa’s feet, impeding the fire’s slow progress toward her. “I can trigger this place’s magic to fail, all while maintaining the wards keeping you from winnowing away. When your precious parents find you, you’ll have suffocated. They nearly lost their souls underground, I think it only fair they lose their son far from the light of their precious stars.”

“You didn’t just take us for revenge on our parents,” Casrien said. “You _need_ us for something.”

“And we knew you weren’t a very manageable choice, not without a little … Coercion,” Beron said. Lyssa tried to focus, closing her eyes as the fire burned ever closer. The cell muted power, it didn’t snuff it out altogether. She could shift into something smaller. She just had to pick, and _focus_. “Your Illyrian cousin is consistently proving more trouble than he’s worth-“

_“What did you do to him?!”_ Casrien demanded. Even Eris jumped slightly at the roar. Lily didn’t. Lyssa wondering if the child was used to it. She couldn’t imagine Lady Elain shouting. The others, however …

_Bat_. Small, dark, nimble. Capable of slipping through those bars. Capable of disappearing into the dark. Lyssa took a deep breath. She just needed Casrien to distract the High Lord a little while longer.

“Nothing yet, unfortunately. We’ve tried to acquire his little Summer lover, but he didn’t like that. He’s young, rash. Once we have her, well, he’ll follow soon after,” Beron’s voice grated her nerves, but she thought of Casrien’s cousin and uncle, those wings that would be hers only smaller.

Lyssa folded in on herself, her body shifting bone by bone to another.

The world was very different. Every torch was a light too bright to her sensitive eyes. The crackling flames were a huge blur of heat. It took much more flapping to fly than Lyssa was used to. She should’ve kept to a bird, something she knew.

Beron’s laughter was all too loud, “We’d wondered if we’d caught the right wolf.”

Lyssa perched on the ceiling in the dark. She doubted anyone but Casrien could see her. She flared her powers like when she tried to winnow. She’d never had any success with the skill. Still, the trick worked. Beron’s laughter died.

“She- she can’t winnow out from the cell,” Eris said. “ _Tamlin_ can hardly winnow across his own lands-“

“Her mother has Summer Court blood. Wherever the blasted sun touches, they can winnow without thought,” Beron grumbled. “Send Derren to the Spring border. I want her brought back.”

They left. Lyssa let out a squeak and dropped to Casrien’s shoulder, meaning to scare him. He took it in stride, infuriatingly enough. “That was one of the most clever things I have ever seen.”

Smiling was nearly impossible as a bat, but Lyssa managed.

—:—:—:—

“There’s no way he would be stupid enough to keep them at the Forrest House,” Cassian shook his head, looking to Lucien. The male looked as though he hadn’t slept. He nodded slightly and looked down at the map.

“There were dungeons,” he smoothed the map nervously. “They were separate, magically preserved, farther underground than the rest. There’s no way in or out without winnowing. My mother never let him take me …”

“No doubt it has wards keyed with Beron’s blood,” Cassian said quietly. “Couldn’t risk being exposed. So, someone of Beron’s descent can get in and out, taking one or two?”

“One for one.”

“We need Eris,” Rhys said. Cassian nodded. He had to admit, he was mildly interested in how the bastard had managed to get caught. He was still unconvinced that the fiend had a soul, much less a heart.

“There are other ways into the Autumn Court,” Lucien said slowly. “There’s a cave in the Spring Court. Even with their borders closed-”

“Have you considered that your brother waited until you arrived to leave because he wanted to draw you into a trap?” Cassian asked. “He must know of the path.”

“We know why he wants Lily, but as for Casrien and the Spring girl, what purpose do they serve? Or Aelia?” Nesta asked. She met Cassian’s eyes. They’d yet to tell Rhys and Feyre about the girl’s abilities. It was impossible to tell if Beron knew of Aelia’s power. Israen had incapacitated or killed the Fae who’d tried to take her, but there had been no bodies. She could’ve turned them partially gold, or their armor.

“Even if he killed them,” Rhys said heavily, scrubbing at his face, “it wouldn’t do him any good. He’d just antagonize us.”

“We aren’t looking far enough,” Cassian jumped at Elain’s voice. She looked no better than Lucien. Cassian was beginning to suspect Feyre and Rhys were both using glamours. Elain set down a map on top of the one of the Autumn Court. The continent. She pointed to one of the sea kingdoms. “This one seeks a suitable mate for his daughter.” Montesere. “Not … _Mate_ , mate, but someone to give her a strong, male heir. Willing to pay a fire-drake’s hoard for one. Beron has- has four true sons, two unwed. Autumn is broke, for all its hoarding, and its people are starving. He needs them to fear his- his sons and their offspring, he needs the money from the- the continent.”

She was drunk, Cassian realized. He’d never met _anyone_ who made this much sense when drunk. Lucien drew her into his arms, pulling her away from the table. He sat down in one of the chairs they’d kicked away from the table, settling her in his lap.

“Shit,” Rhys said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Don’t tell Israen. The last thing we need is him interfering and replacing Casrien. Individually they’re useful to Beron, but together they’re dangerous to anyone.”

“Rhys,” Cassian said quietly. “Something happened this morning.”

“Yeah, your son chased Tarquin’s daughter down and dragged her back into your house,” Feyre said with a curl of her lip, crossing her arms over her chest. “Which is the only reason they haven’t left for Adriata yet.”

“Aelia discovered this morning that she can turn things to gold,” Cassian explained. “She panicked, and Israen didn’t want to risk her turning any _people_ into gold. So, yes, he acted rather rashly, and it looked terrible for everyone involved.”

“To gold?” Rhys said slowly. Nesta pulled the book Cassian had found out and set it on the table. Feyre looked at it like it might kill her.

“This is madness,” Lucien muttered.

“Well, looks like we won’t have much time for pleasantries in Summer,” Feyre grumbled. “Lucien, take Elain home.”

“Who’s going to Adriata?” Cassian asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Nesta and I,” Rhys answered. Cassian frowned, glancing at his mate for a second before meeting Rhys’s violet eyes. Feyre was staring at the table, her hands curled into fists. She didn’t protest however. “Someone needs to keep an eye on Velaris, Israen, Aelia, and …” A quick look to Lucien and Elain. “The Night Court in general. Mor is still settling things in Winter. Amren is waiting for us in Summer. You managed to get banished again, and I want you here with Az.”

Cassian took a deep breath, opening his mouth to counter that his latest banishment was a joke, when he scented it. “ _Feyre’s pregnant_.”

“And Feyre’s pregnant,” Rhys added under his breath, scowling at his brother.

“You could march into Autumn right now and bring the place to its knees,” Nesta said in that forcefully quiet way of hers. Nesta was terrifying when she shouted, but when she got quiet, Cassian genuinely pitied the one receiving her ire. “There wouldn’t be a Court left to retaliate. But because you don’t know that _Casrien is the real heir_ -“

“That’s _not_ what this is about!” Rhys snarled, hand slamming down onto the table. Nesta growled back. “They’ll feel me coming and kill him before I can get there! All three of them! And then _Tamlin_ will retaliate and I’ll be too big of a mess to deal with him!”

Cassian had never heard Rhys admit to a weakness so easily. Nevertheless to Nesta, the only one of them who would strike deep without apology.

“He’s right,” Elain said dreamily. “I saw it last night. They slit Casrien’s throat and Lyssa and Lily- _Lily_ … But Rhys decided against it.”

And she had drank herself beyond her limits trying to forget whatever had happened to the females. Feyre was paler than Cassian had ever seen her before, silver lining her eyes. Rhys wrapped an arm around her waist, his jaw tight.

“You have an hour to pack your things,” Rhys said to Nesta. She nodded and looked to Cassian. He went to Lucien and Elain, carrying Elain as Lucien followed numbly. They’d taken up residence in the House of Wind the night before. Cassian carried Elain to the room and left her on the bed, Lucien murmuring his thanks before sitting beside her. Cassian took Nesta’s hand as he shut the door, kissing the back of her hand gently.

“Israen would have already broken out of whatever cell they’d taken him to,” Nesta said lowly.

“Unless they had Aelia, too,” Cassian muttered. “Cauldron, when did that even _start?!_ ”

“Winter Solstice,” his wife answered coolly, tugging them toward the balcony so they could return home. Cassian growled.

“That bet wasn’t fair.”

As spring arrived, they had attended a Day Court ceremony celebrating the coming of longer days and other sun-worshipping nonsense excuses. It was a party, and a bloody good one at that. And his loving wife had bet him his damn fighting leathers that their son and Tarquin’s daughter would disappear at the same time and return together. That was the first night Cassian had gotten close enough to recognize the scent that clung to Israen on the mornings he had the darkest circles under his eyes.

And Cassian had trained his mate naked for a week, which hadn’t led to much training at all.

“I told you, you shouldn’t bet about things you don’t know about, but apparently fifty years of marriage isn’t enough for you to listen to me,” Nesta smiled innocently.

“You told me that _seventy_ years ago, Ness,” he grumbled.

“Never assume to know more than me. That’s where you always seem to go wrong,” Nesta said.

“‘We’re going to name _her_ Isabel, Cass, I _know, I’m_ carrying the damn thing, it’s a _girl_ ,’” Cassian grinned at her.

She looked away from him sharply, “I have no memory of that.”

“I’ll cook dinner without pants if they aren’t currently fucking,” Cassian said, slowing to a stop. The wind was lazy for a morning by the sea. Cassian looked down at Velaris, beautiful as ever, and sighed. Nesta flicked his ear and he jumped, catching her wrist before she could play innocent to the atrocity.

“That is your _son_ -“

“I know,” he grinned, “Aren’t you proud?”

Her knee slammed into his balls. That was typically the sign that he’d gone one step too far. He coughed and clutched the wall behind him.

“Fucking Illyrians.”

“Your specialty, not mine,” Cassian wheezed. Her eyes turned murderous. He smirked wider. “It’s in his blood, Ness, and the girl’s not complaining, the way she drags him around.”

“I like her,” Nesta said brazenly. Cassian would’ve been surprised if he hadn’t already figured out as much. Aelia reminded her of her sisters, of course Nesta liked her. Cassian straightened and took her hands in his.

“I know,” he said simply. “You like that he’s not looking for trouble when he’s with her. You like knowing he’s safe. But Nesta, think about it. The amount of power that rolls off that girl is what drew Israen to her in the first place. I doubt Lyssa is Tamlin’s true heir. I don’t doubt that Aelia is Tarquin’s.”

“No,” Nesta shook her head. “No, it’s just- she’s different, Cass-“

“Nesta,” Cassian murmured. “It’s not a bad thing. Sonya is pregnant, I may be wrong, but it’s not a bad thing if I’m right. It isn’t.”

“Let’s go home,” Nesta said quietly.

“Send a warning,” Cassian muttered. “They weren’t in his room when we left.”

“Cassian,” she grumbled. Nonetheless, a small form flickered out of her. She’d perfected the art of projecting a message with her odd abilities. They were trying to get her shadow people to aid in her fighting. When the power of the Cauldron had left her, it had torn open some sort of power that had never been seen before. No one outside the Inner Circle knew of it. Only Amren had a hint of understanding for it. It was wholly different to Azriel’s breed of shadows.

Cassian grumbled as he walked through his house. There was a new dent in the wall he didn’t want to think about. Nesta fixed it with a wave of her hand, slipping her arm into his as he stomped down the steps.

“Anything new?” Israen demanded. Aelia was pacing on the other side of the room, her arms clutched around herself. She was wearing Israen’s clothes. Cassian sighed.

“Azriel is recovering,” Cassian said quietly. “Your mother is going with Rhys to the Summer Court. We’re going to find some answers.”

“The Cursebreaker is staying here?” Aelia asked tightly. Cassian glanced at her and nodded. “And you are.”

“I’m not allowed in Adriata, strictly speaking,” Cassian grinned. She opened her mouth and closed it, looking at Nesta. Perhaps worried about losing the only ally she knew for certain might prioritize what she wanted over what would keep her safest. He needed to have a word with his son.

“I’m going to start training Aelia tomorrow,” Israen said firmly. Not asking permission or for help.

“You have duties with-“

“Da,” he growled. Cassian wondered how that word had gone from the most pure sound in the world to some kind of threat.

“You are a Commander in _my_ bloody army,” Cassian crossed his arms over his chest. “So you will be training the female Illyrians in the southernmost camps tomorrow from dawn until noon. After that, you can train Aelia. However, you will not neglect your duties.”

“You’re a crotchety old bastard,” Israen hissed. Nesta’s snort of laughter sent his blood roaring. For all the times she said he only made Israen’s impunity worse …

“I may be, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re going to be out on the pitch in the Steppes tomorrow,” Cassian said. Israen glowered at him. “We may need those females if we’re going to get your cousins out of a dungeon, so you’re going to train them like their lives depend on it, because they very well might!”

“I’ll be all right here,” Aelia said softly. Cassian held his son’s eyes. He had little doubt that he would be obeyed. Cassian put his foot down so rarely that Israen never truly fought it.

Which only served to irritate his wife even more. He glared at Israen a moment longer before following Nesta up to their room. He didn’t like her to leave mad, if only because she was unlike her sisters. When she left mad, she would return mad. When Feyre or Elain left their mates upset, they came back with profuse apologies. Because Rhys and Lucien toed the line, they didn’t blatantly ignore it.

“Not laughing at me in front of our son would go very far in helping him listen to us both,” Cassian rumbled as the door clicked shut.

“When I’m the villain, he goes behind my back and continues whatever it was he was doing in the first place. When you’re the villain, he does whatever you say,” Nesta grumbled, moving toward the closet. Cassian closed his eyes for a second before following her.

“He took a vow to follow my orders. When it comes to his military duties, he doesn’t have much of a choice,” Cassian reminded her. She brushed past him, two of her lighter dresses in hand. She set them carefully on the bed. Nuala and Cerridwen would come by to collect them in no time. “Nesta, it isn’t like he’s running through the seven Courts murdering and pillaging. He has a good heart. He’s not used to being in the wrong.”

“You can’t tell me he hasn’t been terrorizing shopkeepers with his and Cas’s antics.”

“Not for at least two years, Nesta,” he chuckled. She faced him, hands on her hips. She was beautiful angry. She was beautiful at any time of day, but when that fire lit in her eyes … He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Sweetheart, he’s grown up. He doesn’t need us so much anymore.”

“Remember when he used to crawl into bed with us?” Nesta whispered.

“We had to start wearing clothes to bed,” Cassian kissed the tip of her nose. “I love you—the both of you—more than anything else in the world.”

“I love you, too,” Nesta murmured, stretching up to kiss him. He held her for a time after that. Sometimes Nesta only needed a steadying touch. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Try not to worry,” Cassian said, running his hand through her hair. “I’ll keep Feyre and Elain safe.”

“If they take Israen-“

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Cassian’s voice hardened. “I don’t care if I have to take him and Aelia back to the Illyrian camps, they aren’t touching him.”

Nesta kissed him, pulling him against her. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

—:—:—:—

Tarquin knew better than to look for his daughter as Nesta and Rhys landed, but he did regardless. Nesta offered him a small smile paired with a nod. Later, then.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Rhys said darkly. He was not wearing the disappearance of his son well. His power felt different, sharper than usual. He was on the edge of a blade so fine, Tarquin half wanted to have Adriata evacuated.

“I can see that,” Tarquin’s neck prickled as Amren strode through the door. He was yet confused about what she was, and nearly a century of her flouncing about with Varian had not helped things. Varian came to stand at his side as they turned and went into the palace. Tarquin smiled at an urisk female carrying a tower of linens. She beamed back and he continued forward. “I’ve sent a few of my more trusted men to test the Autumn border, find an entry point. They should return fairly soon.”

“How trusted?”

“Even Varian likes some of them,” Tarquin said, earning himself a scowl. He did not earn the snicker from Amren that he should’ve. He’d need to be mindful of her mood. Tarquin swallowed, trying desperately not to say what he wanted to blurt.

“Aelia is doing well,” Nesta said lowly. “Stop worrying.”

They (finally) reached a secure chamber and Tarquin gestured everyone inside. The table inside was round, and Tarquin typically held only family dinners within, hence its heavy fortifications. Tarquin sat in his usual seat and waited for Nesta, Rhys, Varian, and Amren to fill in the rest of the finely crafted chairs. Tarquin let the door close before he took a deep breath. “I don’t know how they knew it, but … my powers run stronger through Aelia than I allow the rest of Prythian to see.”

“How so?” Rhys asked, lounging back in his chair, completely at ease. Tarquin wondered how long it had been since the tension between their two courts had disappeared so thoroughly. He almost wanted to savor it, yet he had other things to focus on.

“I’ve been glamouring her power since before she began her monthly cycles,” Tarquin admitted. He held Rhys’s eyes, “Casrien was hardly a child and already the other courts were trying to kill him. I felt her power, and I hid it. She didn’t show any interest in fighting, so … we didn’t force her. I don’t know how long that will hold if I’m not seeing her regularly and she’s outside the seat of my power.”

“Not long at all,” Nesta said. Tarquin listened with clenching fists as she explained. He’d known about the Illyrian, of course, though it had taken an embarrassing amount of time for him to realize it was Nesta and Cassian’s son. When Cassian had a daughter … Tarquin would relish giving him advice on how to ignore her sexual exploits and sneaking about. He might even grant the General amnesty … again.

“The Touch hasn’t been seen in the Summer Court line in centuries,” Amren said, her eyes gleaming. She stared at Tarquin the way he hated most; like she wasn’t just seeing him, but seeing through him into the darkest parts of him and pulling them up into the light. Tarquin resisted the urge to fidget and looked at Nesta. She, in turn, was watching her brother-in-law. “It’s not only capable of creating gold.”

“Can it affect people?” Rhys asked.

“Only if she wills it and has the strength for it. She’d have to train; it’s not like you learned to Mist people in a day,” Amren said.

“Our children have the power to bring every court to its knees and then wipe them all from the map,” Nesta said lowly. “And Beron knows it.”

Tarquin hadn’t wanted to believe that the ancient High Lord had been the one to take two of his fellow High Lord’s children, but he did. It was more than just a gut feeling or instinctual tickle. He’d seen Beron disappear right before Rhys’s son threw the room into darkness with a smile on his face. And the fiend had had the nerve to _wink_ at him.

“How do we get Casrien and Lyssa back?”

Nesta opened her mouth and closed it again, looking at Rhys. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Nesta looked then to Amren. “They took Lily, too.”

Amren’s gasp was the most normal sound Tarquin had ever heard from her. Her face then twisted in wrath, and Tarquin threw up a shield in front of him as a precaution. The table cracked with a thunderous sound.

Tarquin had never met a soul who didn’t love Elain and Lucien’s daughter. He had long suspected he never would. There was a promise from half the ruling class of Prythian: if Lily was harmed, someone would soon suffer a far worse fate.


	5. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Casrien and Lily still missing, Israen starts training Aelia, who's beginning to get a feel for the Night Court. Tamlin struggles with his inability to get through to Rhys and find his daughter.

“If we get out,” Casrien smiled and closed his eyes, “I’m going to spend a full week flying around the Illyrian Steppes.” Lyssa whined, nuzzling his arm. He scratched her under the chin. She had returned to wolf form a little while ago. “I’m not supposed to tell, but since it isn’t very likely that we’re going to be leaving any time soon … I have Illyrian wings. Flying is one of my favorite things to do … Especially when it’s clear but windy, and you can’t quite tell when there’s going to be a current pulling you in one direction or the other, and the sun is bright and warm on your wings. I’d fly for hours, circling farther and farther from home. My father might come and get me, or one of my uncles. Sometimes even my mother …

“They say she wanted to learn to fly so she could do it without my father, so she had another skill to rely on if she got in trouble during the War of the Cauldron. She has a bit of shapeshifting from her Making, from your father, I guess. She’s never transformed herself fully into another animal, just the Illyrian wings or enhancing her eyes. Wings are her favorite, I think, because my family all loves flying. Well, except Aunt Elain and Uncle Lucien; they think it’s unnatural. But my mother likes trying to outdo me with flips and dives, who can get closest to the ground before chickening out. She always wins because she can winnow away at the last second and I can’t. She starts to get worried about me and then I have to quit so she doesn’t freak out.”

“Mommy says you’ll give Auntie Feyre a heart attack,” Lily said knowingly. Casrien chuckled and kissed the top of her head.

“Eventually, no doubt,” Casrien said lightly. “And she and Aunt Nesta don’t know half of what Israen and I get up to.”

Casrien shuddered as he saw past what most could.

_Lyssa steps through the bars of the cell in her Fae form, reaching for a pale hand with her own. Lily is on her back, arms wrapped around her neck, legs around Lyssa’s waist. They vanish, and Casrien moves toward the bars. Derren returns a moment later, and Casrien reminds him not to remember any of it, and to instead recall going to see if the Spring entrance was any good._

“Cas? Do you need Israen?” Lily asked quietly, touching his chin.

“They’re going to make a mistake,” Casrien said quietly. “And you’ll need to be in your Fae form.”

“He’s talking to you,” Lily patted Lyssa’s head lightly. The wolf licked her hand and Lily squealed, wiping it on Casrien’s chest.

“I can give you my shirt, but we might have to hope for better circumstances before you shift back,” Casrien said. Lyssa looked at him with a look in her eye that Casrien didn’t realize wolves could make.

_Wouldn’t want to do something indecent in front of Lily, would we?_

“Don’t do that,” Casrien answered. She smiled and Casrien pushed her head away from him.

—:—:—:—

“Good morning, Aelia,” she started at Israen’s father’s voice, rubbing her eyes against the too bright light of the foyer. She shuffled toward the kitchen, where something smelled better than the kitchens at home. She sat down at the small table and rested her head on one hand. “I’d ask about your night, but I doubt it was much different than the one before.”

Aelia was too tired even to blush. She’d been up late drinking with Israen in his room, which involved a surprising amount of sauntering around the room impersonating one another and giggling and talking about inane things. Then Israen had been up before the sun, because the fiend had wanted to _fly_ to the Illyrian camp he was training. And since he had to disentangle himself from her before getting out of bed, he had woken her, too. And then, he’d wanted to make it worth her while (he had) before disappearing with a smirk. She hadn’t been able to go to sleep for a while after that.

“There was alcohol last night,” Aelia mumbled, unable to keep her eyes open. The kitchen was much warmer than the rest of the home.

“I don’t doubt it,” Israen’s father set down a plate in front of her. Aelia squinted at the collection of eggs, meat, and oats.

“How did you make this smell so good?” Aelia asked quietly as he set down a fork and knife beside her plate.

“Grease, both elbow and otherwise,” Cassian set another plate down across from her and sat. He had even more of the same food. “Since Israen is occupied for most the morning, you’re with me.”

“And what does that entail?” Aelia asked, testing a long strip of bacon. Cauldron, it was good. Everything on her plate turned out to be excellent, even the oats.

“Well, Israen has been training Illyrians for the past five years, but he doesn’t have any experience with other type of Fae,” Israen’s father said. “Besides, if you learn quickly enough, you can knock him on his ass.”

“You think I can?” Aelia asked lowly, pausing in her complete annihilation of her food. Cassian halted as well, glancing at her half-destroyed plate. He shifted his wings and got up to grab something from the kitchen.

“Illyrians can be worse than High Fae when it comes to being possessive and the drive to protect. Rhys and I have had our problems with our mates’ … _stubborn_ will to put themselves purposefully in harm’s way,” he chuckled wryly. “Israen knows that there is a line, but he’s never had to find it before, and neither have you. Knowing you’re capable of tearing people to shreds is going to help him to calm down a bit.”

“We aren’t mates,” Aelia said flatly, pushing at a bit of egg. “I mean … We’d know by now, wouldn’t we? The bond would’ve presented itself.”

“Feyre went months without realizing. Nesta was High Fae for two years before she did. We were intimate for some of that time. There’s no way of knowing, unless you’re up to ensnare a Suriel,” Cassian set a glass of water in front of her and returned to his seat, placing a pitcher between them. “I’m not saying you’re mates, but you’re close enough to one another to trigger his instincts when he believes you’re in danger.”

“I’m always in danger,” Aelia said lowly, staring at her fingers. She touched the glass of water and narrowed her eyes, trying to will the surge of cold that had terrified her so greatly the day before. Nothing happened.

“Feyre can help you with your abilities, whatever they may be.”

“She didn’t get the Touch.”

“No,” Cassian admitted. “But it isn’t unlike Winter’s ice.”

Aelia nodded, contemplating the meal in front of her and the male who had made it. When Aelia had told Lyssa who Israen was, she’d been so confused. She’d called Cassian and Israen brutes, unable to combine the Lord of Bloodshed with the kind Illyrian Aelia had found him to be. Unable to see past the stories she’d heard.

“What happened between the Spring and the Night Courts?” Aelia asked quietly. Cassian started, frowning at the abrupt question. “My father has never explained it.”

“It was a long time ago,” Israen’s father said just as softly. “Don’t trouble yourself with it.”

“You’re all old as hell,” Aelia pointed out. “And good at holding grudges.”

“Don’t get nosy,” Cassian chided. “It’s between Rhys and Tamlin.”

The way his jaw clenched said otherwise. Aelia wondered if Israen knew. Somehow she doubted it. Aelia finished her food before it got cold, well aware that Cassian was on to her pretend compliance. She poured another glass of water for herself and leaned back in her chair.

She wondered if anyone had ever won against Cassian in a duel to make the other give up. Cassian glared at her, arms crossed over his chest. Of all the Night Court’s Inner Circle, Cassian would be the easiest one for her to manipulate into telling her what she wanted to hear. Perhaps even the only one.

Only she hadn’t the faintest idea of where to begin.

—:—:—:—

“It’s worse than we thought,” Varian said before the doors had closed behind him. Rhys looked up from glaring at his folded hands. “Beron hasn’t just closed the passages between the Courts, he’s warded the entire border against us.”

“He doesn’t have the power to do that,” Tarquin said, rising from his seat. They were in his throne room, Rhys sitting on the steps that led to Tarquin’s admittedly impressively adorned throne.

“He shouldn’t have the power to send his sons to Velaris or nearly kill Azriel either,” Rhys said. His voice cracked with misuse. He winced. He hadn’t slept yet. He’d barely eaten, and, as stupid as he knew he was being, the thought made him nauseous. He was torn between worrying about how safe Feyre was in Velaris without him and where Casrien had gone. He was lucky Mor had chosen to return the Velaris to watch over Feyre and Azriel instead of joining Amren, Nesta, and him in Summer. She would’ve kicked his ass home and back if she saw him like this.

He’d nearly gotten Casrien killed. For the first time in a while, he truly needed others’s help. Distract Beron, save Casrien. That had been the plan. Now things were getting complicated.

His son might not have the time for _complicated_.

“It’s possible he has allies in the continent who have given him aid,” Tarquin mused. “I’ll admit I don’t know as much about their magic as I ought to.”

“Possible,” Rhys hummed. It was the most likely place Beron would’ve turned, considering he was trying to sell Casrien off to one of the kingdoms there. He could ask for Tarquin’s help blockading the Autumn Court’s shore, but it may prove futile if Beron decided to winnow instead. It’d be a waste of time they didn’t have. He just needed to figure out how Beron had gotten into Velaris. The wards had been intact, yet Derren and perhaps someone else had passed through them.

“Rhys,” his sister-in-law said. She never spoke gently to him, and he supposed that was as soft as her voice would ever get while addressing him. “You aren’t planning this one alone.”

“They knew where Lucien’s house was,” Rhys said with a frown. Even he could hardly remember where it was half the time. How could they have known that?

“So?” Varian asked. Amren shushed him before Nesta could.

“They’d’ve had to track their scents—Lucien’s scent—to the house,” said Rhys.

“It’s on the edge of the city,” Nesta said. Rhys nodded slowly. “Would you have sensed a small hole in the wards?”

“Wards are either whole or gone, Nesta,” Tarquin said.

“Yes, and no Fae can manipulate fire _and_ ice _and_ heal _and_ – Must I continue? Magic is always changing,” Nesta said.

“I’ll tell Feyre,” Rhys said, tugging on the bond between them. She was in bed, curled up with Elain in the House of Wind. He didn’t know where Lucien was and part of him wanted to kill the male. Why wasn’t his mate in _their_ bed, in _their_ home?

_Feyre, darling, I need you to check the wards near Elain’s house_.

_Wards are fine_ , she answered, her mind sluggish with sleep. Rhys sighed and probed her mind so she had to drag up her shields farther.

_Feyre, please. We need to know if Beron has changed the rules_ , Rhys insisted. She groaned and started to move. They both winced as she felt a sharp pain below her abdomen. _Feyre?_

_It’s nothing_ , she answered after a moment. Rhys let out a relieved breath and retreated back into his own mind.

“She’ll get back to us,” Rhys reported.

“Azriel?” Amren asked.

“Gatha said he’d be awake by noon,” Rhys answered. Nesta started to pace. Rhys watched her, wishing she was Feyre.

“Don’t look at me like that. Cassian’ll break your nose.”

—:—:—:—

“Not bad,” Israen’s father was saying. Israen dropped to the ground a little ways away from where he and Aelia stood facing one another. She turned toward him and grinned. He flared his wings just a little and rolled his shoulder.

“Why is Aunt Feyre heading across the Sidra?” Israen jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the skies. His father looked up and jumped.

“She’s _flying?!_ ” He demanded, moving away from Aelia.

“Yes?” Israen’s eyes narrowed as his father sprinted past him and launched into the air, faster than Israen had seen him move in a long while. Israen wasn’t sure what the big deal was, but he wasn’t complaining about being left alone with Aelia. She shrugged her shoulders at his questioning look.

“Do you know what happened with the Spring Court?”

“Tamlin is an ass, that’s as much as I’ve gotten out of anyone,” Israen moved toward her. She was already standing more firmly than she had the night before. His father was a brutal teacher when it came to Illyrian males, but perhaps he had taught Aelia slightly differently. She was wearing an old set of his flying leathers. She’d never looked better.

“When I told Lyssa who you were, she thought you and your father were little more than well-trained dogs,” she said quietly. “Your father said it was between Tamlin and your uncle, but I don’t think it is.”

“Does it really matter?” Israen asked. Aelia rolled her eyes. “What is so obvious that I’m missing, O’ Divine and Knowledgable Goddess?”

“They took Casrien and Lyssa.”

“I know _that_.”

“Well, what if they were taken because they wanted your uncle and Tamlin at each others throats instead of being productive searching for them?” Aelia proposed.

“They underestimated my aunt’s ability to not give a single fuck,” Israen said with a shrug. Not enough people realized that while his uncle may have been the most powerful High Lord in all Prythian’s history, his aunt was the one who made decisions. Or, at least, the one who voiced them. It was hard to tell with all the silent communication.

“How likely is it that Casrien is actually going to work _with_ Lyssa?” Aelia put her her hands on her full hips and glared. Clearly, there was something that she had figured out and he wasn’t ever going to.

Israen thought about it. “Very likely.”

Aelia blinked, her face scrunching in surprise. “How do you figure that?”

“They took Lily, too,” Israen said softly, looking away at the floor. “Casrien would do anything to keep her safe. He pretends to get annoyed by her, but she’s as good as our sister.”

“Israen,” Aelia touched his arm. Guilt washed through him. Casrien and Lily were gone, and all he’d done was distract himself for a day and a half. Aelia cupped his cheek, her eyes hardening, “Don’t go there.”

“I should be in Summer helping,” Israen muttered. Aelia shook her head.

“If they want us too, being farther away will hinder them.”

“You were right,” Israen said lightly, trying for a smile. Aelia’s face scrunched again. Cauldron, she was beautiful. He leaned into her ear, “You _are_ too distracting to train.”

He’d seen his mother and aunts deliver the blow so many times that he caught Aelia’s knee before it hit its mark. Israen chuckled and pushed her back. She grounded herself and held up her fists. “Don’t move.” Israen repositioned her slightly, “You want to hit here, with these knuckles … “

His father hadn’t gotten past the basics, really. She was still struggling with them regardless.

They continued long past the point of exhaustion. Israen knew he was pushing too hard, but Aelia had yet to complain. He liked the determined set of her grey eyes, the way she held herself like the sea itself couldn’t budge her. Even when he murmured suggestive things to her, all she did was scowl and snap back. It was the longest Israen had been conscious and in her proximity without being _in_ her in one way or another.

He didn’t know that he would call it nice, but it was different. Less intense at least.

—:—:—:—

“Tamlin, you can’t,” Arrianne stood in front of the door. She wasn’t a fighter, not like their daughter. Strong-willed but soft. Tamlin continued to pack the satchel with a few extra sets of his rougher clothing. “They’ll kill them if they sense you coming.”

“I won’t let them,” Tamlin muttered. No one was touching his daughter. If Beron wanted to wed her to one of his sons, he was going to be sorely disappointed when Tamlin ripped out his throat. “I’ll go through the caves, they won’t find-“

“Tam,” Arrianne’s voice shook. Tamlin looked back at her over his shoulder. “You can’t stop them.”

“Of course I can,” he said.

“If that was the case, Rhysand would’ve already done it,” Arrianne said. Tamlin’s jaw clenched and he looked back to the bag he was packing. She was right. If Beron had enough power to hold back Rhysand, Tamlin didn’t stand a chance. “There’s something bigger going on, you need to _talk_ to him.”

“I have to try on my-“

“No, you don’t,” Arrianne moved forward, touching his shoulder. She pulled on him lightly until he turned to face her. She was so small, like their daughter. “This time, Tamlin … we just have to wait.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” Tamlin whispered. He drew her into his chest, resting his chin on her head.

“Ah, the High Lord of Spring, bested by patience,” she laughed, but he could smell her tears. Tamlin kissed her hair and held her closer. She shuddered with the force of her repressed sobs. “I miss her.”

“She’ll come back to us,” Tamlin assured her. She _had_  to.

—:—:—:—

Azriel groaned and grasped blindly for the couch to pull himself off the floor. He’d been in Elain and Lucien’s house enough to know exactly where he’d fallen in relation to everything else, even without opening his eyes. He was on his back rather than his stomach, he could tell by the discomfort of his wings. He couldn’t have been out long, but he was-

“Lily!” He sat up, scrambling for something to pull him up. There was nothing, and opening his eyes only resulted them in being seared by too bright light.

“Az,” the female voice confused him. As his eyes focused and he recognized the golden hair, he realized just how much shit he was in.

They were in the House of Wind. It was day time. The room smelled like Elain and Lucien and despair. Mor was sitting in a chair beside the bed, her eyes closed and her head turned toward the door. Azriel cursed and threw off his blankets. He was in undershorts and nothing else. He didn’t care.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mor glanced at him, her lips pulled down in a frown.

“To find Lily,” Azriel tried to stand, but his legs didn’t quite hold him. He growled and shoved off the bed, willing his muscles to obey. He listed sideways into the wall. He smacked it hard enough to leave a dent.

“Az, you can’t,” Mor was out of the chair immediately, stalking to block his path to the door. Why was she here with him instead of out looking for their niece?

“The fuck I-“

“She’s in the Autumn Court. Beron took her, he took little Cas, he took Tamlin’s fucking kid, and he tried to take Aelia and Israen, so you aren’t going fucking anywhere!” She waved a hand and the door slammed shut.

“ _What?!_ ” Azriel managed to stand, leaning heavily on the wall. He had to fix it. Find them, bring them home. “How did this happen?”

Mor relayed what she had been told quietly. Azriel paced the length of the room, trying to reconcile what he remembered with what she was telling him. Masquerade ball with all the courts. Mor in Winter, Amren in Summer. He stayed home. Everything went to shit. Feyre, who was evidently pregnant again, had been hurt enough to distract Rhys from little Cas. Nesta had dragged Cassian toward the smell of her sister’s blood. Israen had gone to Aelia. In Velaris, something had latched onto him, and they didn’t know what it was or how it had gotten through the words. Derren had taken Lily.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Mor said as he took it all in silence. “They had it all planned-“

Azriel shook his head, “Lily was _my_ responsibility,  _I_ was supposed to protect her. I should have known; I should’ve seen it.”

“You and Rhys and Cassian are _all_ the same!” Mor hissed lowly. Azriel stopped pacing and she jabbed her finger at him. “Only you don’t have anyone to tell you when you’re being an ass!”

Azriel had little interest in being swayed by her words. Thus, he did what any rational male would’ve: he shifted the subject to something slightly more favorable, “Last I checked, Dramina hardly counted there for you.”

“Don’t you _dare_ drag her into this!” Mor spat. “Not when you sent Ari packing like a-“

“You didn’t even _like_ him!”

“He wasn’t _perfect_ but he was better than-“

“How long have I been out that you’re bring _her_ up?!”

“Two damn days!” Mor shouted. Azriel blinked, looking toward the bed. Two _days?_

“No,” he shook his head. That wasn’t possible—hell, he hardly remembered losing consciousness in the first place. Admittedly, that wasn’t the best indicator of things, but he should’ve had some hint of what could so thoroughly wreck him.

“Yes, Azriel, you have been mostly dead for _days_ ,” Mor said, gesturing at the bed. She snarled.

Azriel was too shocked to reply.

There was a soft knock at the door. Mor stiffened and opened it. They both knew who was on the other side of it.

Elain would never look anything but beautiful, but damn if she wasn’t trying. She looked too small, too listless, like a tuft of fuzz from the dandelions that annoyed her so endlessly. Neither she, nor her mate for that matter, looked like they had slept since the night of the masquerade. Azriel wondered if they were eating, if they were _trying_. It didn’t seem like it. There was a smolder of anger behind Lucien’s good eye, but he had been beaten time and time again by the ones now holding his daughter. Azriel didn’t know if he had it in him to try to help, knowing that any failure would be taken out against Lily.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel murmured. Elain drifted into the room, and he said it again. He said it while Mor left and Elain threw her arms around him. He said it while Lucien leaned against him and cried with him. He said it until they were all sitting on the floor, commiserating over the loss of the smallest, most beloved creature.

—:—:—:—

Lyssa hung upside down from the ceiling, sleeping as best she could. It seemed that when Casrien was not talking or reassuring Lily, all they could manage was sleep. She’d practiced shifting into a bat from the wolf and from the wolf to a bat so many times, she was afraid of passing out. They needed food. None of the members of the Autumn Court had visited since Lyssa had tricked them. She didn’t know how long it had been since the last time she had eaten. She was beginning to wish she had stuffed her face at the celebration.

She squeaked in warning as someone winnowed into the dungeon. She was surprised to hear the soft, steady breathing of the Lady of Autumn. Casrien shifted below her. With the Lady was another of her sons. She didn’t know which one. Not Eris.

“We brought you some clothes,” Lady Autumn said gently. “We know Lyssa is still here somewhere. She can’t have escaped. Beron … overestimated her abilities.”

“Cas says you’re my grandmama,” Lily said quietly. Lyssa wondered how the young child had managed to learn so swiftly how to best deliver her words. She truly belonged on the stage. Lyssa’s father was not one to hide his belief that the Night Court was filled with over-dramatic Fae. Still, it was astounding the control Lily so quickly had over the Lady of Autumn.

“I am,” the female’s voice shook. She took a moment to steady herself before adding, “And I am terribly sorry, my dear.”

“I’m hungry,” the younger murmured, moving farther into Casrien with a shudder. “It’s cold here.”

“I brought a blanket. I can bring more, too, if you’d like,” Lady Autumn said.

There was a lull where neither Casrien nor the Autumnling moved. Lyssa figured they were staring at each other, but it was difficult to tell. They were at least looking in one another’s directions.

“You should leave,” Casrien said quietly. “This isn’t going to be pleasant.”

“May I take Lily with me?”

Casrien did not answer immediately. Lyssa wanted to scream at him not to do it. Casrien stood, holding Lily in his arms. “If I give you Lily, you have to feed her. If any harm comes to her, swear you will double it on the one who caused her harm. If she is mistreated in any way, swear you will remove her, even if it means bringing her back here. If Beron tries to hurt her, swear you will stop him.”

“Mother,” the Autumnling grumbled.

“I swear it,” the Lady of Autumn breathed. She cried out, the smell of ink and seared flesh filling the air. Casrien merely hissed quietly. Lily clung to him nervously. Lyssa heard her small whimper as the Lady of Autumn entered the cell and held out her arms for the girl. “I promise never to hurt you, Lily. I’ve wanted to meet you for so long …”

“Cas?” The young female whimpered quietly.

“It’ll be all right, Lily. Lady Autumn is going to give you food.”

Lily was pulled into the female’s arm. Lyssa listened to them leave the cell. Then the Lady of Autumn winnowed out on her own. Interesting. Casrien seemed to think so as well, given the handsome but troublesome smile he directed vaguely toward her.

She was given no time to react as fire flared across the ceiling, blinding her and sending her forcefully to the ground. Her small form bounced and scraped on the ground. Her wings, _her_ _wings_ , there was a hole straight through one, the membrane had torn, like a hole clean through her foot, her wing was useless and it _hurt_ , she couldn’t think through the tiny but broken bones screaming, _screaming_. Casrien shouted, “Lyssa!”

Everything ached, her eyes, she couldn’t see _anything_. Lyssa lost track of her shifting, her Fae form winning out over the wolf she tried half-heartedly to shift into. She still could not pick herself off the floor even in her Fae form, her arms trembling beneath her before giving way. She let out a quiet, rasping sound. Her chin hit the floor, jarring her teeth. The stone was freezing beneath her, and stars exploded behind her eyes. She lost track of Casrien as her forehead dipped to the cold floor. Something light ghosted over her, small tugs puling her up and against something warm. _Casrien_.

“Lyssa,” he said again, touching her face. She found his and groaned. He started to glow, his warmth filling her. She sighed as the pain dulled, her eyesight sharpening once more. He touched her lip with his thumb, watching her carefully. He looked away from her and ice crackled across the cell toward the Autumnling. He snarled.

“She’ll be coming with me now.”

Lyssa tried to sit up, only to realize that she was only covered by a precariously positioned blanket. Her cheeks burned as she pulled it tighter around her, thanking the Cauldron for Casrien. He was still watching the Autumnling intensely. Lyssa looked over. The Autumnling’s eyes were enraged, but he didn’t move or speak.

_Daemati_. She looked back at Casrien. His head had tilted predatorily, a small smirk pulling at his full lips. “Good afternoon, Derren.”

“Good afternoon, Casrien,” he ground back, his voice sounding odd and strained. His eyes widened in fear as Casrien eased Lyssa off of him and stood up. She leaned against the brick wall and suppressed a shudder as Casrien tucked one hand into his pocket. With the other, he grabbed the small pile of clothes Lady Autumn had left.

“I’d like to talk about the wards preventing us from leaving.”

“No.”

Casrien smiled and Derren’s eyes went blank. They simply stared at each other, Derren frozen in fear and Casrien in triumph. Casrien eventually said, “You’re going to forget what happened here. You nearly killed Lyssa and she never shifted out of her bat form. The next time you come here, you will leave your mental shields down. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. You may leave now,” Casrien inclined his head. Derren winnowed away.

“Why didn’t you make him take us out of here?” Lyssa asked.

“I haven’t fully healed you yet. We’d have to find Lily and somehow convince Lady Autumn not to rat us out without her getting hurt. Besides, you need to get dressed,” Casrien set the clothes beside her, eyes very carefully averted from what the blanket left exposed. Lyssa sighed in relief when he turned his back and let her pull on an oversized tunic. She left the lacy underthings to Casrien and took a set of male underwear instead. She pulled on the trousers and wished she had something for a belt. The only thing even remotely long enough for it was her hair and she wouldn’t cut it unless she had to. She could survive too-large pants.

“I’m decent,” she said, surprised at how easily the words came. She hadn’t spoken in a good while. Casrien glanced back at her before fully turning, as though worried she was lying. She sat back down and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. She’d been a bat too long; the different senses were giving her a headache. Parts of her still throbbed faintly, and she was so hungry and tired. “You should’ve had him bring food.”

“I suspect Lily will return with full pockets,” Casrien answered, sitting down across from her, back against the bars. Lyssa wished he’d sit beside her. Even clothed, the dungeon was freezing. She raised an eyebrow at Casrien. Lily was wearing a nightgown. “You know what I mean.”

Lyssa hummed and let sleep drag her down. It didn’t drag her far enough before she shivered violently. Gooseflesh crawled down the left side of her body. “It’s freezing.”

“You threw the blanket in a puddle.”

Lyssa opened one eye to see that it was true. Casrien was watching her with a wary look. Lyssa smiled, “I have a feeling you’ll do better than a blanket.”

“Lily could come back at any time,” Casrien said flatly. Lyssa opened her other eye.

“I’m not asking you to do anything but sit next to me,” she said gently. Casrien’s cheeks tinged with color, “Depraved bat.”

He grumbled but came to sit beside her. He didn’t touch her, folding his hands in his lap. Lyssa shivered again and grit her teeth against their chattering. Finally, after a lot of twisting his hands together in his lap, he shifted closer, so the entire length of their thighs touched. He draped an arm over her shoulder and she leaned against him with a soft moan that made his heart beat faster. Lyssa was too relieved to smile at his reaction.

“How is it that you work primarily with ice and manage to run this hot?” She murmured. He laughed quietly and touched her hand with his free one, pulling on it until it lay palm up. He traced a finger over it, her own fingers twitching in answer.

“I think it has to do with the fact that I’m male, and I’ve trained in the Illyrian Steppes,” he said lightly.

“I don’t know where those are,” Lyssa reminded him, closing her eyes. Casrien let out a soft laugh.

“The Night Court.”

“I hate you,” she hummed, letting him slip his fingers into the space between hers. He pulled their clasped hands to his lips and pressed them against the back of her hand. She sighed as he let their hands fall back to her thigh.

“I don’t mind you,” his voice was a low rumble that confused her exhaustion and her blood. She failed to open her eyes as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

She fell asleep quickly after that, wondering how long they would be left to waste away under the ground.

—:—:—:—

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Feyre?!” Cassian shouted over the wind. She glared back at him and started to descend steeply. Cassian chased after her, landing before her and monitoring her much more careful landing.

“I can fly just fine, Cassian,” she said darkly, but her wings shuddered and folded in on themselves until they disappeared.

“You weren’t born with wings, remember what happened the last time you lost focus-“

“Rhys isn’t distracting me and there aren’t any trees to run into!” Feyre snapped, heading down the hill and through the Rainbow. She greeted former and current students as they passed, but did not slow as they headed toward Elain and Lucien’s home. Cassian had no idea why they were going there, but didn’t bother to ask. Feyre would tell him when she was ready to.

“It’s still a risk that Rhys wouldn’t want you-“

“Rhys can go fuck himself, I have two more months before I’m grounded,” Feyre said.

“Technically, Rhys _has_ to fuck himself, given he’s in another Court,” Cassian pointed out. Feyre let out a little laugh, the first he’d heard in nearly two days. She was slowly compressing into a mess of anger and fear, and he needed to keep her mildly optimistic. Cassian eyed Elain and Lucien’s house as they crested the hill toward it. Feyre was breathing a little heavily. Her pregnancy explained why she’d ignored his orders to train with her for the past month or so in favor of sleeping in with Rhys. Cassian frowned at the house, “The window is broken.”

“Lucien,” Feyre sighed. The door was slightly open. They stepped into the house, which was still lit as though Elain was cooking for everyone in the kitchen with Nesta advising. They’d had only a few family dinners in the home, since they’d bought the house when Elain was pregnant, then Lily never seemed to want to sleep when visitors came. Only if she was asleep by the time people started arriving did she stay upstairs.

It felt wrong, so, _so_ wrong. Feyre didn’t seem to notice, but Cassian moved closer to her. He glared at the sitting room; he could smell Azriel as though he was still fading. Feyre moved up the stairs, Cassian nearby. Lily’s room smelled like Autumn. Cassian’s nose wrinkled as he recognized the scent of one of Lucien’s brothers. He was right.

“Rhys found Az in the sitting room,” Feyre murmured. Cassian nodded. She stared at him, her eyes narrowing, “Go check it out.”

“Alone? No fucking way, _my lady_ , I’m staying with you,” Cassian said sharply. Feyre frowned at him, but he cut her off before she could speak, “I am _not_ scared.”

“Is that why you still won’t go into the library?”

“Nesta almost died down there, I don’t like it,” he mumbled. Cassian didn’t lie per se. It was more a half-truth than anything. He also didn’t like the way Bryaxis lingered. As though Feyre had _told_ him Cassian was scared of him.

“Fine, we can go check the sitting room _together_ ,” Feyre rolled her eyes. She muttered about Illyrian babies under her breath and he followed her back through the house.

_Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong._

_Leave._

“Feyre, we should go,” Cassian could not pass under the archway that led to the sitting room. His muscles had gone taught. Feyre frowned at him from beside the couch, prowling around the room looking for some sort of clue or another. Something inside of Cassian was shrieking for him to run. This wasn’t something he could fight, he just had to fly, fast, _now_.

_Are you all right?_ Nesta called down the bond.

“I don’t sense anything,” Feyre said after a moment of consideration. She moved closer to the corner, by the bookcases. Cassian took a step into the room. His heart thundered louder even than Nesta’s shouting in the back of his head.

_**Wrong wrong wrong**_.

“Feyre,” he gasped, watching his Siphons flicker and start to fade. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even answer Nesta in his own thoughts. Feyre finally looked at him.

She cursed, running straight at him. But she didn’t touch him. She raised her hand and ice crackled past him, hitting something behind him that shrieked in pain. Cassian shouted as the sound dug through his ears into his mind. Thoughts of Israen and the house tore past him, lazy mornings where he didn’t let Nesta so much as touch the floor until noon, and Aelia with Israen, the way he smiled at her, a thousand times worse than when Rhys had tried to test his shields. Cassian’s shields were mountains and stone, but the creature dug beneath, devouring it all.

_Can’t fight can’t fight can’t fight._

_So_ that _is what you love?_

He blacked out.


	6. Infiltration

“Rhys, we need to go back,” Nesta marched toward him, trying to block out the screaming in the back of her mind. The High Lord got to his feet and grabbed her wrists before she could clutch at his elegant clothes. “We have to go back, _it has him_.”

“What-“ Rhys’s frown died and he held out one hand for Amren. “Tarquin, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Oh … kay?” Tarquin had learned not to question things. Nesta would’ve thought it amusing at any other time.

_What happened what happened what happened-_

They landed outside of Feyre’s house, but Nesta let the tug in her chest pull her elsewhere. She winnowed to Elain’s house, dragging her High Lord and his second with. Feyre was carrying Nesta’s mate—her husband, the father of her child—struggling under his weight. Nesta’s heart seized in her chest.

“ _Cassian!_ ” Nesta let go of the others and winnowed onto the porch. Together, she and Feyre eased Cassian to the wood. His eyes were open, flitting wildly as though they could see things that weren’t there. He was so pale, worse than the first time Nesta had miscarried. “Cassian! I’m here, it’s Nesta, I’m here.”

“Israen,” he groaned. Nesta took his face in her hands. He gasped out their son’s name again as she held him.

“What _was_ it?” Rhys demanded. He said tightly, “His mind …”

Cassian, Nesta called down the bond. He was still there, still struggling to answer her. But something, someone, kept dragging him back. _I’m here. Fight._

“Israen.”

“Did I not tell you that the Book, the Cauldron, would awaken foul creatures?” Amren murmured. She set her hand on Cassian’s brow, a hand Nesta very nearly tore off. Feyre grabbed her shoulders and kept her still. Cassian’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, then closed. “I thought these vermin had been exterminated eons ago.”

“What _is_ it?” Nesta asked, shrugging her little sister off her. Amren sat back on her heels, leaning against the porch’s railing.

“The Illyrians only ever called it Goldaba, the Terror. It preys on Illyrians almost exclusively-“

“Where is Israen?” Nesta looked back at her sister. Feyre blinked and shook her head. Nesta kissed Cassian’s forehead and stood. She twisted away from Rhys’s desperate lunge and winnowed home.

“Israen?!” She shouted, shoving open the gold speckled front door. The house was utterly silent. Nesta could still faintly smell the breakfast Cassian had no doubt cooked. She charged up the steps, calling his name over and over. His and Aelia’s scents weren’t strong enough to be as recent as they needed to be. Nesta cursed. Where the hell could they have gone? _The House of Wind_. Nesta sent a shadow messenger to her brothers-in-law and winnowed again.

She did it far more often with Cassian than Rhysand, but she was still confident the winged warrior would catch her before she crashed into the roof of the House of Wind. She’d heard of Feyre’s harrowing winnow with the beast the Attor. They enjoyed terrifying their mates by winnowing into the sky and seeing how close they could get to the ground. The first time Cassian had nearly killed Nesta for stopping his heart as such. Feyre had stopped when it seemed like Casrien would try to copy her.

“You’re fucking insane,” Rhysand snarled, catching her out of the air not ten seconds before she would’ve flattened herself. She’d seen him shooting over the city, and hadn’t been worried. Neither mentioned that she could’ve easily winnowed out when she got too close. Nesta didn’t bother to answer him as they landed. Israen and Aelia’s scents were stronger here, recent.

“Israen?!”

“I can hear you halfway across the city, what do you-“ she grabbed Israen’s shoulder as he sauntered toward her from inside, Aelia trailing behind him. He frowned at her and the no doubt wild look on her face. “What happened? Aunt Mor just had me fly her up so she could winnow to Aunt Elain’s, but Aunt Elain is _here_.”

“I can feel it,” Rhysand muttered darkly, tearing past Israen into the House. “It’s here for him and Az!”

“Elain,” Nesta’s grip on her son tightened, and she pulled him toward the balcony Rhysand had landed on. “Go to the Steppes. Take Aelia.”

“If it can get into Velaris, it can get to the camps-“

“I don’t want you anywhere near that thing, and if it feeds on Illyrians, I want it full before it reaches you. Go to the Cabin. _Stay there_ ,” Nesta spat. Israen looked ready to argue, but she raised a finger, “Go, _now!_ ”

Israen scowled but held out his hand to Aelia. Nesta ran into the House after her brother-in-law. She’d warned Azriel, but it wouldn’t do him any good if he wasn’t awake.

“The wards are keeping it out,” Rhys reported. Lucien was by his side, brow furrowed in concentration. The door to Azriel’s room was open, and Nesta could see Elain sitting at the foot of his bed. She, Lucien, and Azriel were an oddly tight knit group. Nesta’s human upbringing left her at a loss for how their little group worked. Rhys turned back toward the way Israen had gone. “It can’t winnow. It lost track of him.”

“What is it?” Elain asked quietly. Nesta glared behind her at Azriel, who was struggling with his shirt. Elain followed her gaze and moved to help him silently.

“I’m going to draw its attention elsewhere,” Azriel grunted. “We need to get Cassian in here to heal.”

“It’s moving through the mountain,” Rhys murmured. “You’d be best off flying out over the sea.”

“You’re not seriously considering-“ Nesta made a low sound. Unbelievable. It was utterly unbelievable, how stupid the Illyrians could be. Nesta hadn’t recognized her husband as the lesser evil for years. At least he had enough bravado to carry himself through most days. Yes, on the battlefield he took more risks than half the legions put together, but when it came to family, Cassian wouldn’t leave Israen. “Rhys, you saw what it did to Cass, he’ll _drown!_ ”

“No, he won’t,” Elain said dreamily. “Nesta will catch him.”

Nesta cursed. Rhys gave her a dangerous grin that would’ve impregnated Feyre of its own accord and moved toward the nearest balcony. Azriel trailed behind him, moving stealthily but with enough determination that anyone in his path would shirk away. Lucien gave her a solemn nod and Nesta cursed again, nodding back. He snapped his fingers, dressing her in her modified Illyrian armor. She quickly caught up with her brothers-in-law, her scowl close to permanent. Feyre called that Cassian was stable. Azriel’s previous injury had given Gatha an inkling as to what worked and what didn’t. Feyre’s blood was working quickly.

Rhys carried her to the sea, flying close to Azriel. She could feel the seething dark below them, chasing them over land as they raced for the sea. When they got to the sparkling water, Rhys dropped Nesta. She winnowed above them, slipping her fingers into the loops on her thighs and tugging. Fabric came loose, the wind pushing into it. Her descent slowed, became almost easy. Winglike webbing connected to her boots, sides, and arms gave her almost as much control as the Illyrians. She couldn’t ascend with them traditionally, flapping about like a madwoman, but she could winnow through the sky, which included moving higher. The suit had been created for Feyre, but she preferred her wings, whether they be Illyrian or Peregrin. Nesta had been staunchly opposed to it at first, but in training with Cassian, her mind had started to wander to the sky.

Nesta had gotten alarmingly reckless with age. She was still so difficult to break, after all that time, and it had gone to her head.

Nesta moved upward a hundred or so more feet as something shot out of the sea where it was still shallow, barreling into Azriel. Nesta pressed her arms to her sides and dove. Rhys separated the writhing being from Azriel. From two hundred feet away, Nesta could see he had gone pale. Her eyes watered, and she cursed Lucien for forgetting the magical barrier he usually put in place to stop that from happening. Nesta initiated it with a hiss, sticking the membrane of one wing to her leg so she could reach for Azriel. He was getting close to the surface, too close. Nesta let out a frustrated sound as she gripped his wrist. His fingers tightened around her arm weakly.

“If you let go, I’ll kill you,” Nesta growled, flinging out her webbed arm. The action sent her spinning. She grabbed Azriel under his other arm and winnowed about ten feet out from shore, a foot above the water.

Luckily, it wasn’t quite like hitting stone. Nesta back still smarted with the impacts; first the water, then the sand below. She’d forgotten how slowly this stretch of beach sloped down toward the sea. Nesta pushed Azriel up to the surface, shoving off the sand once he was out of the way. She wrapped an arm under his and dragged him toward the shore, hardly able to see because of the bulky wings in her way. Her suit was drenched, almost as heavy as the Shadowsinger. She propped him up against one of the rocks, his feet still in the water when the waves stretched upward. The sky had gone grey with magic as Rhys and the creature fought. Thunderous rumbling shook the golden sand of the beach, sending rocks skittering down. Nesta wiped her face and spit out the bit of sea water she had managed to nearly swallow.

“You’re all fools,” she groused, shaking out the wings of her suit. Azriel groaned but signaled that he was okay. Nesta felt Feyre check in, just as a blinding flash of light accompanied by a blood curdling scream set sand flying as though there had been an explosion. Nesta was knocked forward into the rocks near Azriel; she barely managed to lift her arms to shield herself before she splattered her brains on the stone.

_It’s dead_ , Rhys announced. Nesta clambered to her feet, her ears ringing from the explosion. The sand was in odd patterns, but she didn’t care much as she scrambled over to Azriel and grabbed his shoulder. They winnowed to the porch of Feyre’s house. Azriel staggered on his feet, leaning heavily on the closed door. Nesta tried to shake out more water from her flight suit. _It felt only Illyrian strength. It was blind to me._

It was no wonder, then, that the thing had chased Azriel. Israen’s power both was and wasn’t Illyrian. It was close enough that the Siphons helped, but far enough that they didn’t seem to last long. Nesta had half a mind to cover him in them, head to toe.

Nesta pulled Azriel off the door just before her youngest sister opened it. Feyre took Azriel’s arm and together, they pulled him into the house. Rhys was already inside. Azriel sat on one of the couches in the sitting room, leaning over his knees. Nesta climbed the stairs to one of the usually unused rooms. Cassian was asleep, Gatha and Mor by his side. Gatha was of the Nature Fae, a term Rhys and Feyre had implemented to refer to the once-called lesser Fae. Her skin was like paper thin stone scales, which often came off in sheets. Her eyes were depthless and black, none of her people had anything natural in way of hair. Moss clung to some of her gangly limbs, which often times ended up on the floor with the scales. But Gatha’s people were the best healers outside of Dawn, and any eccentricity was more than overlooked for her skill, especially since Madja had passed shortly after delivering Israen some twenty years ago.

“When will he wake?” Nesta asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Soon,” answered Gatha, her voice crackling. It had always sounded like shifting stones to Nesta.

“That isn’t a real answer,” Nesta said shortly. Mor gave her a warning look.

“Because you’ll like the true one even less: I am not all-knowing. He will wake when he’s ready to,” Gatha pushed out of the chair with her arms. Her tail scraped against the floor as she left, walking on the knuckles of her broad hands. Her legs she curled against her chest. Nesta knew the healer did it to make her uncomfortable. She could’ve walked out on her legs, her hands at her calves, tail curled around her neck. But Gatha liked to show off that Nesta did not know everything either.

“At least you’re sure he’s waking up this time,” Nesta said softly. It was a question, both knew it, but Nesta would never admit it. Mor’s face went tight.

“Indeed I am,” Gatha closed the door behind her with her tail. Grayish-Blue dust was left in her wake. Nesta stepped through it to sit at Cassian’s side for a moment.

“Thanks for carrying him back,” Nesta murmured to Mor, taking one of his massive hands in hers. She didn’t ask about the Winter Court. Kallias adored the children. It had to be a nightmare.

“We have more allies than enemies, Nesta. We’ll get them back,” Mor said softly. “And we’ll keep Israen safe.”

“He doesn’t want to be kept safe,” Nesta brushed over Cassian’s callouses gently, kissing the back of his hand. “We’ll go to the Steppes when he wakes. I have a plan, a very bad plan.”

“Have we ever had a good one?”

—:—:—:—

“There she is,” Casrien stirred, his grip on Lyssa tightening instinctively. She was pulled away from him sharply, the movement driving his senses into overdrive. He couldn’t let them take her. She wasn’t meant to be taken from him, not ever.

He was awake in an instant.

Fire blazed brightly enough for Casrien to see. The cage had dried from the amount of it, and gooseflesh no long peppered his skin. Sweat slid down his back. Lily was crying, near the edge of the bars by her grandmother, who was on the other side, keeping the flames from reaching her. One son of Autumn was outside with her, the oldest, another inside the cage, with him and Lyssa—whose long hair the Autumnling held in one fist, using it to drag her away from him. Lyssa cried out in pain.

Ice tore away from him before he could do more than push to his feet, slicing through Lyssa’s beautiful hair. There was a moment of stillness, most the fire dying in Casrien’s raging cold. Lyssa dropped to the floor roughly, a soft groan escaping her. Casrien helped her up gently, turning his gaze on the one who dared separate them. The son of Autumn gaped at the dirty golden locks clenched in his fist. Casrien knew that Lyssa hadn’t wanted it cut, but he had hardly been thinking about anything besides getting her free. Little else mattered. Casrien snarled and landed a kick squarely in the Autumnling’s chest. The bastard stumbled through the bars like they were curtains, but Casrien slammed into them full on. His teeth sung at the impact. He recovered quickly enough to snatch Lily to his chest and retreat to the back of the cell. She was wearing a small satchel that looked huge against her body. It smelled of baked goods and apples. Casrien set her down and let her cower behind his leg. Lyssa stood beside him. Derren, Eris and the Lady of Autumn stood outside the bars. It was perfect. One for each of them. The Lady of Autumn had proven she could winnow out and take another with her as she did. But she had been harmed enough, and her blood flowed through Lily.

He slipped into Derren’s mind easily, smiling as he did. “You’re going to take us out of here.”

“Casrien, don’t be a fool,” Eris warned. “Even if you could get out, the border is sealed. My father has found some of the oldest spells workable without the Cauldron. You cannot leave the Autumn Court.”

“We have to leave, now. So long as he can’t find us, it doesn’t matter,” Casrien shook his head.

“You have time, you idiot.”

“You don’t know what Father plans for the Spring bitch,” Derren said, the words only spoken because Casrien refused to allow him to hide his thoughts. Derren giggled, “She’s to be mine. I can do whatever I like. There’s a priestess waiting to bless the binding. When we capture the Summer female, Cervan will have her.”

“And Lily?” Casrien breathed.

“She’s the best way to keep Mother in line. Lucien would hate it if he knew, but it makes things _so_ much more fun. She’ll learn to love it here.”

“He’s going to die for this,” Eris growled.

“He’s going to let us kill you when we have the Summer whore,” Derren turned to look at his brother, smiling broader still. Casrien’s stomach turned. “You weren’t supposed to pick Lucien, Eris.”

“My Lady,” Casrien said quietly. “I would suggest you join your husband. It would not do well for you to be implicated in our escape.”

She nodded, disappearing the next moment. Eris shook his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

“Take us out of the cell,” Casrien ordered quietly. He silently gave Derren instructions, praying that he hadn’t overestimated his cousin’s feelings for Aelia. Casrien took a deep breath; Eris came forward, crouching in front of him. Lily looked around Casrien’s leg at him.

“I’m your uncle, love,” Eris said, a little gruffly. “I promise, we’re going to stay with Lyssa.”

“I like Lyssa,” Lily said warily, looking up at Casrien. The shapeshifter in question laughed, brightening the room with the sound. Casrien nodded to Lily, and she moved around him, still gripping the leg of his trousers carefully.

“I imagine she likes you as well,” Eris said, looking up at her. Lyssa smiled at Lily and gestured to her back. Casrien nodded, lifting his cousin up onto Lyssa’s back.

“Hang on tight, Lily,” Casrien ordered, looping her arms around Lyssa’s neck. “Hook your feet. Just like that, well done.”

Lyssa held out her arm to Eris. He clasped it in his large hand and they winnowed out. Lily went with them.

“When your usefulness is exhausted, I will spend _months_ ending you,” Casrien whispered, gripping Derren’s hair and pulling it sharply. They pushed into darkness, then out of it again.

The Autumn Court was beautiful. Casrien didn’t care. The Sons of Autumn disappeared. Casrien let Lily scramble onto his back from Lyssa’s. He pretended to choke when she tried to goad him onward. She giggled, and Lyssa gave him a dark look. He winced and shushed his cousin belatedly.

“Derren was in charge of scheduling the guards,” Casrien muttered. “They’re in rings moving outward from the Forest House. There’s a few spots he knew they weren’t checking, that Uncle Lucien used to use. He thinks we wouldn’t be able to find them.”

“And has no idea we can,” Lyssa nodded, starting to grin. Casrien answered it quickly. “Lead on.”

It took a bit to find the place. They split up for a moment when Lily complained that she needed to relieve herself. Casrien spent the time trying not to tap his foot and run after them, and to keep the ice twisting around his fingers contained. It wouldn’t do well to leave a trail of frost in their wake. It was the most controlled he’d ever been with it, and the thought pleased him more than anything should’ve.

They came back soon enough, Lyssa stifling laughter as Lily chittered like a squirrel. Lyssa sent Casrien a look that said she didn’t understand and they continued on.

The cave, according to Derren’s memory, split into several dead ends, which made it difficult to narrow down where his brother was. He’d tried to kill Lucien twice in the cave system. He hadn’t succeeded either time, and had failed so badly, Lucien hadn’t even noticed.

Casrien suspected his uncle had, but hadn’t wanted to give Derren the satisfaction.

Casrien led them down the longest. Lyssa offered to turn into a bat and scout ahead, but they didn’t have a change of clothes for her, and waiting for her to strip down before she shifted seemed counterproductive. They divided the food in Lily’s satchel as best they could, but she’d barely brought enough for the three of them. Lyssa tried to give a part of her portion to Lily, but Casrien wouldn’t let her. He pointedly ignored her growing frustration.

They only talked once Lily was asleep in his lap.

“Shift into a wolf and see what you can hunt,” Casrien muttered.

“Stop telling me what to do,” Lyssa said flatly. “Just because we’re free because of you doesn’t mean you’re in charge.”

Casrien laughed wryly, “That is exactly what that means! What, you don’t think finding more food is a good idea?”

“It doesn’t matter whether it’s a good idea or not, what matters is that I’m not some sentry you can order around!” Lyssa hissed. “You aren’t my heir, you aren’t my elder, you aren’t my commander. I’m not your anything, and you aren’t anything of mine.”

Casrien swallowed, nodding. Lyssa eyed him darkly for a long minute, “Please, shift and find what food you can.”

“That must’ve been one of the hardest things you’ve ever done, you Illyrian prick,” she muttered darkly. She started to pull at her tunic, stopping when he didn’t look away, “Turn around.”

Casrien gestured down at Lily, “You are’t in charge either, Lyssa.”

“No, you’d like that far too much,” she muttered. Her eyes rolled at the wicked grin her comment garnered and marched around a bend in the cave. He would’ve sworn she was smiling, but he couldn’t quite tell. Casrien looked down and brushed Lily’s hair smooth.

“I think you’re our only hope for leadership, Lily,” he muttered, leaning back against the stone. He tried to recall the path Derren had burned into his own mind. For when Eris tried to kill him and their father.

Lyssa returned as a wolf, carrying her clothes in her mouth. She set them down next to Cassian, huffing air at him. Casrien reached up to touch her snout, “How does north sound?”

Lyssa growled, _We’ll discuss this later_.

“I have little doubt of that,” Casrien smiled. She licked the side of his face and darted off, leaving him to wipe off her saliva. Casrien made a face and cleaned off his hand on his pants. “Filthy animal.”

He didn’t realize he was chuckling until Lily shushed him.

—:—:—:—

“Casrien and Aelia are going to stay at the cabin until this is all over,” Nesta reported a little loudly, ducking into Cassian’s tent. He set down the report he had been studying, glancing at Feyre. Rhys had returned to the Summer Court that morning. Nesta had refused to leave with him. There was nothing that could be done to make her, so Rhys and Amren returned without her, a few of the members of the Court of Nightmares going with them to see what could be done about the barrier around the Autumn Court. It had been three days since he’d been attacked, and they were no closer to breaking it. Israen and Aelia had spent those days in the cabin alone.

“That place smelled like Feyre and Rhys for two years after they mated there,” Cassian said mildly, returning to his report. His wife heard the unspoken question.

“They haven’t mated yet. They’ve been doing little else but train, eat, and fuck, but they’re not mated,” Nesta sunk into a chair across the map laden table. Cassian met her eyes for a moment over his report. She rolled her eyes, “Of course, I want them to be mated.”

“Half a year’s salary says they’ll be mated before they have to leave the cabin,” Feyre murmured quietly, stretching her feet. Cassian winced as several bones cracked in her ankles. Feyre sighed and met his gaze, “You wouldn’t have to deal with it if you had left me in Velaris like I told you to.”

“Please, this is the only time the Illyrians will have a chance to see you glowing with new life. Once Rhys gets back, they’ll all run for the hills,” Cassian answered, reaching for a pen to correct a line in the report. “And there is no way I would leave you in Velaris when our enemy has a way to break the wards.”

“That thing is dead,” Nesta said. Cassian found her hatred of the creature endearing. It was nice to have something hated on his behalf. “Amren said there aren’t many left. I doubt he has another.”

“Sweetheart, you aren’t saying you don’t enjoy dear Feyre’s company, are you?” Cassian gasped, touching his heart lightly. The sisters gave him identical looks of distaste.

“Even when you aren’t their mate,” Nesta scowled incredulously, climbing to her feet, “Idiotic beasts.”

She helped Feyre up. Her sister made a rude gesture at Cassian, “You can shove your duty to Rhys up your ass.”

He heard the landing, feeling the earth tremble. Cassian was on his feet immediately, beating his wife and sister-in-law to the entrance. He stepped out into the crisp night air, looking for the messenger in the throng of warriors.

“General,” he ignored the snide way the camp lord said it. “No patrols have given any reason to suspect trouble in the ranges you gave them. It is pointless. Let them return to their usual duties.”

There were six patrols scouring random mountain slopes for enemy combatants. The seventh watched the slope where the cabin was so cleverly hidden. None knew of it outside of the Inner Circle. And Tarquinn and Varian. The patrols were comprised of the worst of the males still trying to discourage the females from fighting.

“They’ll do as I tell them to,” Cassian said lowly. The messenger took flight again for all of twenty feet, landing in front of Cassian.

“We’ve just received word; Casrien escaped. He’s in the Autumn Court, but he’s free.”

Feyre sobbed behind him, clutching to Nesta. They winnowed elsewhere hastily. Cassian tried not to look too relieved. “What does our High Lord have to say on the matter?”

“He’s going to one of the Summer Court border towns with the High Lord of Summer. They believe they will find a way through.”

“Very well, thank you,” Cassian dipped his chin and took to the sky before the camp lord could ask him again about the patrols.

—:—:—:—

“The spell is similar to that of the Wall, but considerably less powerful,” Varian reported. Rhys crossed his arms over his chest. They were staring at an invisible demarcation. He didn’t know if he was staring at the right one or not. It was dusk, and getting darker by the second. The barrier didn’t feel like the Wall, it wasn’t nearly as awful. It didn’t carry that strange, tangy scent. “As far as we can tell, however, it’s meant to keep everyone but those of Beron’s bloodline out.”

Rhys felt the gazes fall to him. “I’m not sending Lucien in alone. Even if he wanted to, it’d just be giving Beron what he wants.”

Not to mention, he probably couldn’t get in anyhow.

“Lily might be able to get out,” Tarquin murmured. Rhys tried not to look too skeptical. If she could, it would be Helion’s spell-cleaving abilities that did it, not Beron’s blood. She may have glowed from time to time, but they had never known her to break through wards or-

The wards around the House of Wind had held against the Goldaba. It hadn’t been able to get through them. But the ones around Velaris, the ones near Elain’s house … Had _Lily_ broken them? Rhys didn’t want to believe it, but he’d need to discuss it with Lucien and Elain, and Helion, eventually.

Rhys had always known his offspring would be powerful. He had never considered what might become of his nephews and nieces.

“That doesn’t help my son,” he grumbled. Tarquin sighed and motioned for Varian to continue. Varian nodded. He tentatively stuck out a hand. Blue ripples of magic formed as he touched the barrier. It looked like he was touching glass.

“We can’t even attempt breaking it physically. Inanimate objects,” he reached down to pick up a stone. It sailed clean through, “don’t seem to be affected by it. Food goes through, too. We can supply them, but we can’t get them through.”

“The Cauldron didn’t make the Wall, but it did break it. How do we break this barrier?” Rhys asked. Tarquin raised an eyebrow and shrugged. They threw their power against the wall together. It did seem to balk at it, but it didn’t waver. Like it was no more than a paper cut. Rhys reeled his power back in. “The Wall was shattered from an existing hole. We don’t have one.”

And they didn’t know if Lily could make one or not.

“Maybe however Derren and Cervan are leaving are creating them,” Varian suggested.

“If they’re winnowing, there’s no way of knowing where those spots are,” Tarquin shook his head. “This is too clever and expensive for Beron.”

“Not for Montesere,” Rhys shook his head. Tarquin sighed. Rhys turned parallel to the barrier, reaching out to touch it. He vowed to find his son, to bring Casrien out alive, even if it killed him.

_Don’t think like that_ , Feyre chided down the bond. _I refuse to lose either of you_.

_Oh, you refuse, do you?_ Rhys smiled just a little. He could feel her sharp affirmation from halfway across Prythian. _Israen and Aelia?_

_Nothing yet, but they’ve probably narrowed down the location of the cabin,_ Feyre sighed. She gave Rhys a little piece of her vision. Cassian and Nesta were sitting on the couch in his mother’s house, talking lowly about how quickly they could fly from the camp to the cabin. Cassian warned that practicing it would only give them away faster. Nesta smacked his arm for assuming she was so idiotic. _They typically don’t worry so much._

_Aelia complicates the plan more than I’d like,_ Rhys admitted. They had no idea if she could maintain her role in their plan once Israen was hurt. _This is where she decides whether she stays in the Night Court or not._

_I’m leaning toward_ not _, love. Cassian and I think she’s Tarquin’s heir._

_Of course you do. I get to name the child if she’s not._

_You’ll do no such thing._

—:—:—:—

Israen hummed and nuzzled closer to Aelia, closing his eyes against the sunlight pouring into the room. She murmured back, dragging her hand through his hair. The other lay beneath him, still on his sun tattoo. Last night had been good. They’d started in the bath, ended in the bed. They were completely unfazed by the watching eyes in the hallway. His family already knew that he would take Aelia over any other female. They were tangled together; Israen was on his stomach, Aelia on her side facing him. His head was turned toward her. He loved the amusement dancing in her eyes, or he would’ve if he could’ve seen it.

“Israen,” Aelia kissed his cheekbone. He opened one eye. She was so near to him. He tilted toward her, brushing his lips against hers lazily. He kissed her until she sighed, pulling at his hair, fitting her head into the crook of his neck. “Israen.”

“‘M not goin’ ‘nywhere,” his eyes fell closed again. She giggled against his skin, making him smile. He looped an arm around her waist and twisted onto his back, pulling her halfway with him. He shifted his wings until it was only mildly uncomfortable.

“You told your mother you were training me.”

Israen opened both eyes so he could find her pointed ear and whisper in it, “I’m training you how to moan for me.”

“I don’t need any training in that,” Aelia used her grip on his hair to pull him away, resituating herself atop him. Her legs straddled his, “If anyone needs training, it’s you, Israen.”

“I am notoriously incorrigible. You can’t train me if I don’t want to be so trained,” Israen said. He wasn’t sure what he was saying. It was too early to know what was coming out of his mouth. He didn’t even try to stop it, not when it made Aelia laugh the way she did. She was still laughing as she kissed him again.

“I enjoy your incorrigibility.”

“‘S not a word, Aelia,” Israen kissed her nose.

“It is, too,” she laughed again.

“You’re sucking out my mind,” Israen complained upon realizing she was likely right. He kissed her, twisting them so she lay beneath him. “All I can think about is you, your scent, your laugh. I think you’ve gained another new ability.”

“And what would that be?”

“Driving me mad,” Israen kissed her, long and hard, meeting her tongue with his own. He pulled away reluctantly. Hunger was pulling at his gut insistently enough that he’d have to remedy it before doing anything with Aelia. “I’m going to make some food.”

“Or, you could stay here and never leave this bed,” Aelia suggested. Israen chuckled and pulled off of her, finding his way to the floor. Aelia watched him closely. Israen pulled on a pair of trousers and stretched out his wings. He wanted to fly desperately, but giving away the location of the cabin was not in his best interests.

A warm finger trailed across the edge of one wing, and Israen shuddered. He turned to face Aelia, who had lazily pulled the sheets around herself. Israen let her tug on his hand and kiss him. “Put some clothes on.”

“You enjoy making things harder on yourself,” Aelia said. Israen smiled and moved toward the bathroom.

“We have to eat,” he called over his shoulder. He left the bedroom door open slightly and slipped into the bathroom. His Siphons were on the counter beside the sink, and he pulled them on immediately. A small coil of anxiety loosened at the action. His Siphons glowed as he splashed cool water onto his face, running a hand through his hair. He smelled like his aunt; Aelia did, too. The whole cabin had smelled like her and his uncle. Now it smelled of him and Aelia. Israen smiled at himself in the mirror.

He heard footsteps in the hall and turned off the sink. Israen had been listening to nothing but Aelia for four days. He knew her footsteps, and the ones in the hall were too heavy.

Israen tapped his Siphons and waited for the scales to creep over his body before slowly opening the bathroom door.

Aelia made a muffled sound in the bedroom. The halls were empty, or they were at first glance. Israen could sense the glamoured Fae watching him, weapons drawn. He made himself shrug, made himself push open the bedroom door carelessly.

Aelia was on her feet in front of the bed, an Autumnling behind her, holding a sword to her throat. She wore his long discarded shirt over a pair of fur lined leggings. Israen paused, taking a deep breath and holding up his hands, as though in surrender. Six Nature Fae archers with hair like turning leaves were perched around the room, each one aiming at him. Seemed about right.

“Israen,” Aelia whimpered. She was good at playing the damsel. Israen tried not to smile. They couldn’t have known that they’d picked the wrong fight, not yet at least.

The archers loosed their arrows, but Israen called a shield up faster. They clattered off to the floor. He reached a hand behind him to form a wall at his back, so the rest of the soldiers littered throughout the cabin couldn’t surprise him.

“I’m going to enjoy handing you over,” the Autumnling crooned to Aelia. Israen’s power surged dangerously, his Siphons glowing too-bright. The Autumnling winnowed, taking Aelia with him, and the roaring in his head drowned all else out.

Israen knew he was fucked when the first Siphon shattered. That was _not_ part of the plan.

The archers fired another round of arrows. Israen’s armor started falling off scale by scale as he moved. He watched as the arrows sailed toward him. They paused in midair, much to the astonishment of the Autumn Court fools.

Israen’s eyes glowed with unkempt power as the arrows splintered apart, as though crushed by a great pressure. The shards hung in the air, green energy flickering around their contours. And then, they moved.

The room shattered apart, sheets tearing, bones, armor and furniture smashing to pieces indiscriminately. The Fae didn’t have time to scream before their coppery blood splattered on the walls. Israen turned on his heel, following the path of Aelia and her captor. They were just down the hall.

He met her gaze as the scales of his armor bounced across the floor. Israen raised a hand, trying to call a sword and shield to him. His actual sword was in the kitchen, on the counter. His father was going to kill him for it.

Aelia gasped as fire separated them, barreling down the hallway toward him. Israen stumbled away from it, pressing his back against the wall by the doorway as fire tore into the room. He swore violently, trying to find Aelia through the wall of flames without losing his face. She was struggling with her captor, struggling and losing to greater experience.

By the time the flames died, Israen’s hand was trembling. He could feel his power acutely, well aware that he was very near to bringing the cabin down on top of them. He might’ve let it happen, had the Autumnling not kept Aelia inside to taunt him. They knew, somehow, that his power would kill her alongside them if his Siphons started to break.

_We have the Siphons to keep ourselves from hurting the ones on our side. Otherwise the power would seek to kill everything._ His father’s words echoed in his ears. He hadn’t earned his Siphons until he was fifteen, but he’d worn them since he was nine. He’d nearly brought down the camp during a sparring match. It was when they started calling him the Mongrel, the Half-Breed.

“Let her go,” Israen ordered lowly, daring to step out into the hallway. Aelia held his eyes steadily, her breathing just barely uneven. He prayed she would stick to the plan.

“She’s not meant for you,” said the Autumnling, moving towards the door. Another Siphon cracked. The Autumnling’s eyes widened.

Israen shouted in pain as fire flared across his exposed hand. More scales fell away from his arm as he whirled and slammed his palm into the air, toward the hallway. The Autumnling was already winnowing.

The Siphon over his right knee split completely. As the green energy coated the hallway in splinters and dust, it shattered and fell away. The Fae were no doubt hiding elsewhere.

“No!” They were in the bedroom for no more than moments. Israen couldn’t turn fast enough.

Fire slammed him sideways. He barely managed to keep the power humming through him from exploding as he crashed into the bedroom wall. Israen dropped to his knees, his fingers scraping the floor. Green mist curled away from his knuckles, burned and unburned.

The third Siphon didn’t shatter, it exploded.

The Autumn Court soldiers were waiting. Their High Lord’s son had already dragged his prize past them, their cue to enter the cabin. Now, they had to capture the Illyrian mongrel. They were not afraid; he was little more than a child, and he no longer had control of his power. As far as they were concerned, he was as good as dead already.

They were not aware that in the thousands of years of the Illyrian killing power’s existence, it had never once taken the life of its host, unlike many other sorts of Fae abilities.

Israen emerged from the bedroom, the sun turning his dark hair bright. His eyes were death incarnate. Blood slipped down his face where pieces of his still glowing Siphon had lodged themselves. Three Siphons yet remained; one on either shoulder that pulsed with his very breath, and one on his left knee, which flickered which each movement of his eyes.

The glass in the cabin shattered with his first step—windows, mirrors, vases, dinning-ware. He laid eyes on the trail of soldiers between him and the front door. The first screamed as his form crumpled in on itself. Israen stepped over him. Arrows filled the air before him. Some landed, some missed, some shattered. Israen didn’t notice the arrow in his thigh or his shoulder. They snapped off, leaving no trace but small green patches to staunch the bleeding. Several soldiers swung their swords at him. One by one, they met a wall of unadulterated power that shattered steel and bone alike. Israen opened throats with his bare hands, moving like a great beast through the men, green light flaring around him wildly, his remaining Siphons desperately trying to keep up with the demand.

The last male in the cabin stood trembling in the doorway, blocking Israen’s path. Israen paused, tilting his head as he shoved another dying male away from him. Blood dripped into his eyes, and he did not know whose it was.

The male pissed himself as he found himself unable to move. His nose bled, then his eyes, his ears, until he collapsed, blood spilling out of his mouth. Israen stepped over him.

They thought grouping together would help them. The final three soldiers stood between him and their Lord’s son and Aelia. Israen darted forward. The Siphons on his shoulders shattered with great flashes of light. The soldiers stood their ground as the earth shook by Israen’s power. He killed the one on the left first with a blow to the chest that collapsed his ribcage into his own lungs and forced them to burst. Israen dodged a ball of flames, dragging the second in front of him to take the blow instead. He snapped the burning male’s neck and let him drop. A dagger buried itself in Israen’s exposed side. Aelia screamed louder than he roared. Israen looked at the dagger and the male holding it separated into several different pieces, falling into a bloody pile on the ground. Israen pulled the dagger out with a wince. His last Siphon faltered and crumbled.

He met the eyes of the High Lord’s son. He held flames before Aelia, sharp like talons and far too close to her neck.

“I doubt you could kill me before I kill her,” he said lowly, leaning closer to Aelia. A growl ripped out of Israen that made the mountain tremble beneath them. “Not without killing her, too.”

He registered the threat too late. More arrows, this time through his wings. Aelia screamed his name as he dropped to one knee. He flung a hand out toward the source. The ground tore itself up, throwing stones against one another—and the hidden archers.

His vision swam enough that he knew his powers were no longer clotting the wounds. Aelia freed herself, running toward him. That wasn’t right. She was supposed to winnow away. Fire chased her, and was extinguished efficiently by a band of water. Waves broke out of the ground, roaring toward the Autumnling as Aelia slid into Israen, gripping his face in her hands. Fire encircled them as the water sunk back into the earth.

Three dark spears shot down from the sky, surrounding Israen and Aelia and the prick. Israen smiled.

At the sight of the Shadowsinger, the General Commander, the High Lady of Night, and the Cauldron Made Hellcat who stepped away from her, the fire died.

“We’re going to have a long talk about this,” Uncle Azriel said. Israen and Aelia had been the bait. It had almost worked perfectly.

Aelia looked to his aunt, “He wasn’t supposed to get hurt!”

Everyone but Aelia had known he would end up on the wrong side of a beating. It had to be done.

With his blood pounding through his ears, his eyes never left her face, even as he was eased to the ground. “You were supposed to winnow when you got free.”

“How many times must I say this? I’m not leaving you.”

He smiled, right until the moment all thoughts drifted away and even a little while after they’d gone.


	7. Out of the Frying Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aelia finds a potential solution to the Montesere problem, though not everyone is willing to go along with it.

“You let your emotions get the better of you,” the Cursebreaker said gently. “It’s hard not to, at your age. But in the Night Court, we do what needs to be done.”

They were in the kitchen of the Cursebreaker’s Illyrian home. Israen was upstairs with his mother and one of the healers. They were trying to fix his wings. The Cursebreaker had made him drink her blood, which evidently had healing capabilities. It was a nice trick to hide, and Aelia wasn’t surprised that no one outside the Night Court knew.

Though she suspected her father knew and hadn’t said anything.

“I let my- They nearly killed Israen!” Aelia said. Both flinched slightly at her words. That wasn’t what bothered her. There had been a healer waiting, though no one had sent word ahead. “And you- you _knew_ and you let him nearly-“

“We’re always nearly dying,” Cassian said flippantly, “Welcome to the Night Court.”

“How can you not care?!” Aelia demanded. The floor under her cracked and turned to amber, panic freezing her veins. “How can you be so used to this?”

“Aelia, breathe,” the Cursebreaker said. If she had been calm, Aelia might’ve screamed, but there was worry in her voice. Cassian jumped over the couch and joined them in the kitchen. “Just breathe, all right?”

Aelia did. Luckily, the Cursebreaker continued to distract her, talking about her first trip to the Court of Nightmares, when she had begun to realize how much her friends would sacrifice for each other and their Court. She talked—her voice breaking—about Casrien and Israen, how they had been so eager to prove themselves from too young an age. Cassian touched her arm gently and talked about how Lily almost burned down Elain’s house when she started teething. Everything she put in her mouth caught on fire. Including Lucien’s hair.

“Israen knew what he was getting into,” Cassian said after a long moment of silence. Aelia’s lack of control had passed. “We didn’t expect his Siphons to blow, not when he ruined the last set about a week ago, but he’s going to be all right. He’ll heal. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve shredded my wings.”

Aelia and the Cursebreaker flinched.

“I had an idea,” Aelia said quietly. The High Lady and her General waited for a long moment. “The Autumn Court wants to sell him to Montesere.”

“How do you know that?” Cassian demanded. The Cursebreaker set a hand on his shoulder before he could saunter past her.

“Derren,” Aelia whispered. Azriel had taken him to the Court of Nightmares. Last they’d heard, he was singing like a bird. Casrien had scrambled his mind enough that he wasn’t resisting questioning.

“What did he tell you?” The Cursebreaker said calmly. Cassian looked ready to tear her apart for answers his brother probably already had.

“He said they would pay for Israen and Casrien, that Montesere’s King doesn’t care,” Aelia said. “But they don’t want to meddle with previous arrangements. They think they can beat the Night Court, but they don’t want any of the others to join us.”

“What is your plan?” Cassian bit out.

“Talk to my father. Announce I’m engaged to Israen. Have Casrien betrothed to someone else, outside of Summer or Night. Make it not worth the risk of retaliation,” Aelia said softly. She’d meant to talk to Israen about it, but they’d been found before she could.

“What?!”

“It’s not a bad idea,” the Cursebreaker muttered. Aelia met her cool blue eyes. There was something like pride there. Aelia couldn’t help but smile as the Cursebreaker did. “You’re smarter than Cassian gives you credit for.”

“People have a tendency to underestimate a female when they can see a bit of her skin,” Aelia shrugged. A lesson from her mother, one she’d used more than her father appreciated.

“Rhys and Mor tend to agree,” the Cursebreaker chuckled. She offered her arm, “Come, let’s go check on your beloved betrothed.”

“Feyre,” Cassian grumbled. Aelia wasn’t sure if he’d agree or not. It looked like he didn’t. “This is going to piss off the other courts, fake or not.”

“They’re expecting it, Cassian,” the Cursebreaker said as Aelia took her arm. “We may be allies, but there’s no shared blood. They’re probably betting on whether or not we shoved Aelia and Israen together to begin with.”

“Did you?” Aelia frowned.

“Of course not,” the Cursebreaker sighed. “But with Rhys and my daemati abilities, some will think it. You know, Kallias might just throw a party for you two.”

“I hope he doesn’t expect us to be … _available_ throughout it,” Aelia muttered as they started up the stairs. “The effort to keep his hands off may very well kill Israen.”

The Cursebreaker laughed as Cassian grumbled about their wicked plan, “I think you’d do very well here, Aelia.” Aelia smiled, knowing she was just saying it to make her feel better. When they were out of the General’s earshot, the High Lady added, “But I think Israen would do better in Summer.”

Aelia didn’t hide the smile that grew at the thought of it. The Cursebreaker winked conspiratorially as they entered the room Israen was in. The healer had just finished and brushed past them, murmuring a quiet assurance.

His wings were scarred, but whole. Nesta sat in a chair beside him, looking strained. She smiled tersely at Aelia. The Cursebreaker explained her plan quickly. Aelia sat on the floor near the headboard, leaning against the side of the mattress and watching for any sign of him waking.

“Aelia, are you sure about this?” Nesta asked quietly. Aelia nodded and pulled a strand of hair from Israen’s face. He needed to shave the sides and back of his head again. It was getting long enough to tug on gently.

“I’m going to take her to the Court of Nightmares,” the Cursebreaker said quietly. “Keir won’t be able to give us away again without incriminating himself.”

“I’ll join you when he wakes up,” Nesta said with a dip of her chin.

“Casrien gave us away,” Aelia said quietly. Derren had whispered it in her ear. “He’s sorry.”

She was still going to kick his ass the next time she saw him.

—:—:—:—

“You’ve got to rebuild your strength before you do anything,” Cassian warned gently. Israen nodded, flexing his wings with a wince. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, watching the camp beneath them, no doubt looking for Aelia. “They may be healed, but pushing yourself will only tear them, and trust my experience when I say that’ll hurt like a bitch.”

Israen nodded, but Cassian didn’t think he’d been heard. Not with the way Israen’s eyes were still searching. He’d been up for no less than ten minutes. Cassian had no idea how he was supposed to get his son to fucking listen to him when he got like that.

“Cass,” Nesta warned. He shrugged off the urge to growl. “Aelia and I will be returning to the Summer Court tomorrow.”

_Aelia_ seemed to be the magic word.

“What?!” Israen demanded, immediately looking at Nesta. “Where is she now? Are you making me stay here?”

“She’s at the palace on top of the Court of Nightmares with Azriel,” Cassian said evenly. Israen’s eyes flicked south immediately. Cassian put his hand on Israen’s shoulder, “We need the two of you to do one more thing before she leaves.”

“I’m not going with her,” Israen muttered. When Nesta leaned closer to Cassian instead of answering, Israen turned, snarling at him, “Am I?”

“You’ll join her later,” Cassian said calmly. He still didn’t like this plan, and he knew that Israen could see it. “When Tarquin deems it appropriate.”

“Appro- What part of Aelia and I seems _appropriate_ to anyone?!” Israen twisted out of Cassian’s grasp. “Whose plan is this?!”

“Aelia’s,” Cassian said, crossing his arms over his chest. He flared his wings just enough to be a warning. He may not have liked the plan, but Feyre and Nesta did. So did Mor, for that matter, even if Azriel agreed with him. He didn’t even want to know Rhys’s thoughts.

“You’re not telling me what it is,” Israen growled. “She’s _my_ responsibility.”

“Montesere wants to buy you and Casrien from the Autumn Court,” Cassian said softly. Nesta snarled lowly. He took her hand before continuing, “But they don’t want any of the Courts joining together against them. So … Aelia has come with a plan that will, hopefully, make you more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Tarquin is going to announce your engagement day after next,” Nesta said softly. Israen blinked, taking a step away from them.

“She- She’s at the Court of Nightmares?” Israen asked. Cassian nodded, trying to read his expression. Emotions were flitting by too quickly for him to get a grip on any one.

“Israen, wait,” Nesta reached for him, but he’d already winnowed out. “That’s fantastic.”

“I _really_ hope they found each other on Calanmai,” Cassian muttered. Nesta punched his shoulder. “You want to keep him from her, go ahead; I’m not interested in getting attacked by our son.”

“I know you don’t like this plan,” Nesta said angrily, putting her hands on her hips. “And I know it’s because Aelia didn’t tell you before she told Feyre. Not that you gave her much of a chance to.”

“He’s our son. He’s _my_ son,” Cassian said, taking her hands. She watched him suspiciously. Cassian clenched his jaw, looking down at the camp. “You and Rhys came up with the idea to use them as bait while I was unconscious. After that thing _ripped_ Israen’s location out of my head.”

“Cassian-“

“This is too much,” Cassian said lowly. “I didn’t mind it when we were putting him danger because Israen can care for himself, but _this_ , Israen doesn’t know how to handle. Nes, he’s in love with her. He doesn’t want her to come up with plots that make her a convenient out. He doesn’t want her to _be_ a convenient out. Did you see his face?”

“I know, Cass,” Nesta squeezed his hands. “I do. But we’re running out of time.”

“This isn’t going to work,” Cassian shook his head. Nesta sighed and he drew her into his chest. “Tamlin will never agree to it.”

—:—:—:—

Feyre was pacing. Mor watched her steps carefully. She was already complaining about her feet aching. Mor wondered how far along she was. Feyre had been hiding the growing bump surprisingly well. Mor would’ve noticed sooner, if she’d been around sooner. Guilt curdled in her briefly. She’d had Dramina’s mouth dragging her through ecstasy when Casrien and Lily were taken. Mor was used to guilt, used to finding a way free of it, but not when the price was the children.

“We never should have skipped the masquerade,” Mor murmured. “Beron wouldn’t have had the opportunity.”

Feyre waved a dismissive hand. “They would’ve found a way. You know that.”

Mor ducked her head, twisting her fingers. Of course it was Autumn. They were by far the most foul court left. Even Tamlin was an improvement on them. Mor’s thoughts drifted back to Dramina idly. “Kallias is more visibly anxious than I’ve ever seen him.”

“He loves the children,” Feyre murmured. “You have a way to contact him, should we find a way in?”

“I do,” Mor held out the bracelet she wore. Vivianne carried its mate. A crescent moon dangled off her wrist. “Vivianne has its pair. When it’s time, I can signal her.”

“Good,” Feyre murmured. “I need you to go to Helion.”

Mor groaned, “He hasn’t stopped prepositioning me for seventy years, Feyre.”

“His granddaughter is a captive and I think he deserves to know.”

“ _I’m_ not telling him,” Mor said bluntly. “My gift may be truth, but that’s not the sort of thing you want to hear from a female you’ve only taken to bed twice.”

“ _Only twice?!_ ”

“Regardless, I’m not letting Rhys slip out of that mess,” Mor said, grinning. Helion could be a good time, if provoked well enough. “He deserves to tell Helion, considering how long he’s been keeping it secret.”

“If you tell him or not, I’d like for you to go make our case. He’s fond of Lily as it is,” Feyre said. Mor let out a breath. Helion wasn’t really as big a problem as they pretended. If turned down succinctly enough, Helion wouldn’t push. But if there was the smallest spark of interest, Helion would do whatever he could to stoke it.

Cassian had managed it. So had Nesta. Mor didn’t know of anyone else who had. Helion was an interesting male.

“I’ll leave as soon as you get word to him,” Mor sighed. Feyre nodded but continued to pace. Mor rubbed at her face. “Are you at least sleeping?”

“Rhys and Cas are gone.”

Which meant it wasn’t likely. Mor stood from the couch, catching Feyre’s arm before she could turn on her heel again. Mor dug through the glamour surrounding Feyre’s face.

There was a familiar dead look in her eyes. Mor didn’t know how she’d managed to glamour that. The dark smudges under her eyes were familiar too. Mor pulled Feyre into a tight hug, “Little Cas needs you to be here when he comes back.”

“I’m already replacing him,” Feyre whispered. Mor pulled back on her shoulders sharply.

“No, Feyre, _no_ ,” she said firmly. Mor wiped at her High Lady’s tears and kissed her brow. “You are doing what you can. He wouldn’t want this from you. He needs you to be strong.”

“Everyone says that.”

“I _mean it_.”

Mor stayed until Feyre fell asleep.

—:—:—:—

“Thank you,” Casrien said quietly. Lyssa tied up the laces of her boots and shrugged. As long as he wasn’t going to be a bossy ass, she had no problem with him.

“I turned some squirrels into wolves, told them to head toward Summer,” Lyssa muttered. Casrien worked on skinning the hares she had caught. He’d built a fire while she was away.

“That’s a good idea,” Casrien nodded. He grunted and Lyssa flinched as the pelt of the rabbit came loose. “But you did it when we first escaped. I didn’t realize you could talk to animals.”

“I didn’t realize you had noticed,” Lyssa said, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She hated being caught, though she technically hadn’t lied. “You can hijack people’s will, you shouldn’t be surprised.”

“It’s impressive,” Casrien said quietly. Lyssa frowned at him. Lily was curled up on the ground behind him. He looked bigger than usual because of the shadows behind him. Something else was off though. It had been off since they left.

“What did you do?” Lyssa asked gently, moving closer to the fire. Autumn was, unsurprisingly, colder than Spring ever got. Casrien swallowed and looked away to the entrance of the cave. Lyssa sighed. Her father would do that sometimes, and her mother would quietly ask her to leave. Half the time she ended up having to leave the manor entirely after a few minutes. “Cas, tell me. It can’t be anything worse that what we’ve already faced.”

“I needed my father to find the information Derren had,” Casrien said softly, barely more than a whisper. “So I gave up the location of our- of a safe place and I … I told him how to take Israen’s control away.”

“Casrien-“

“He’s going to get caught, I made it so he couldn’t leave sight with Aelia but …” Casrien closed his eyes. “I had to. I had to.”

He looked down at his hands, covered in blood from the hares. A shudder tore through him. Lyssa moved around the fire and sat beside him, taking one of the hares from his lap. They worked in silence.

“Aelia told me about Israen,” Lyssa frowned, trying to think of the occasion. “It must’ve been Winter Solstice. She pointed across the room at him and said that she was all his for the next hour. And then, I’d turned around and she’d gone. That happened three formal events in a row. Then, she mysteriously disappeared when I was staying with her in Adriata. I was called home by the next morning, because my father didn’t think it was safe. He’d gone into the city to see her.”

“What’s the point of this?” Casrien asked quietly.

“The point is that Aelia wouldn’t let him out of her sight any more than I would let you out of mine,” Lyssa muttered, cursing the heat that flooded her from her neck to the tips of her ears. She hadn’t meant to say it quite like that. She had hardly meant to _think_ that. “I- sorry.”

“Lyssa,” he tucked a stray stand of hair behind her ear. She stared at the skinned animal in her hands for a moment. They were both splattered with blood. So much for keeping her clothes clean. She hated that she didn’t have enough control of her magic to keep her clothes when she shifted. Another year, her father had promised. Casrien murmured her name again. She wished she could’ve ignored it, ignored him-

“Cas,” Lily murmured, stirring behind them. Lyssa set the hare down beside Casrien’s and stood, pacing away through the cave.

Idiot, she was an _idiot_ , through and through. He was from the damned Night Court, what was wrong with her?!

She nearly yanked off her clothes and shifted into a wolf’s form. At least she couldn’t do anything stupid in that form. Like cry, or mentally scar Lily. Lyssa paced for a good moment. She wanted to actually talk and interact with Lily and Casrien. The desire surprised her. She’d rarely if ever wanted to talk to anyone besides her parents and Aelia.

Her mother’s last words to her rang inside her like death knells.

_You weren’t born to be the perfect Rose of Spring. You never were meant for that._

Her father would believe it, too, if he saw her. The worst part of it was that she didn’t even care. Whatever her father’s problem was with the Night Court didn’t matter. Casrien hadn’t hurt her, he was probably the only reason she wasn’t … She didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened without him.

She left her clothes on, followed the scent of blood back to Casrien. He had the hares roasting over the fire. Lily was sitting in his lap, holding his wrists and making him her puppet. Lyssa stopped to watch them for a moment, smiling from the edge of the light. Casrien’s eyes found her so very quickly. She moved into the light hastily, color flooding her face.

She _hated_ getting caught.

He smiled, though worry tinged the crinkling of his eyes, “Would you have liked to eat dinner raw?”

Lyssa’s eyes rolled. He was an idiot as much as she was. She settled down beside him. Lily moved his arm to rest his hand on the inside of her thigh. Lyssa tensed, trying to see what the six-year-old did so the action would make sense. She glanced at Casrien, who made a face that conveyed his shared confusion. His hand remained limp. “Cas, I can’t reach your fingers.”

“What should I do with them?” Casrien asked. Lyssa glared at him. The girl was too young to understand the tone of his voice. She was not.

“Absolutely nothing,” Lyssa said tightly. Casrien only raised his eyebrows, waiting for Lily’s decision.

“Daddy does this because he likes Mommy,” Lily said brightly, completely unaware of Casrien’s damned smirking. His fingers flexed against her thigh. Lyssa flicked his arm just below Lily’s fingers, snarling more playfully than not, baring her teeth at the girl. She giggled and curled up in Casrien’s lap. Casrien’s hand stilled.

“Well, now what am supposed to do, Lil?” Casrien demanded, feigning exasperation. Lily continued to laugh, pushing his chest lightly.

“Mommy told Auntie Feyre you were big enough to make your own choices.”

Casrien’s smile died. “When did you hear that Lily?”

“I was napping but I woke up,” Lily said quietly. Evidently, she didn’t like getting caught either. “No telling, Cas, promise?”

“Promise,” Casrien kissed the top of her head gently. He pulled his hand off Lyssa’s thigh and turned his attention to the hares. They ate quietly, Lily complaining about getting her fingers ‘icky.’ Casrien caved almost instantly, pulling apart the meat into small pieces and hand feeding her.

“Shut up,” he grumbled to Lyssa’s barely contained howling. A snicker left her, but that was all. She’d grown up with Hart, and he was almost as bad with her as Cas was with Lily. She probably could’ve gotten Hart to commit murder for her. Especially if it was a male.

She winced to think that he would take particular satisfaction ripping apart Casrien.

“Are you all right?” Casrien asked softly.

“Fine,” Lyssa said quickly. “I think I saw a stream out there. We should wash up.”

Casrien’s brow pinched, his eyes going wide and unfocused. His pupils almost completely overtook the blue of his eyes. Lily whimpered and grabbed his wrists again. Lyssa stopped breathing for a moment, “Li- Lily what’s happening to him?”

“He needs Israen,” she answered, turning her huge brown eyes on Lyssa. “Can you go find him?”

“Lyssa,” Casrien whispered, his fists clenching. She moved closer to him, taking his wrists from Lily gently. He still didn’t see her. The girl crawled out of his lap.

“I’m right here, Cas,” she said. He blinked, his pupils shrinking back to a normal size. His eyes scanned her face for a moment. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Then he kissed her, hard, like she would disappear if he didn’t. Lyssa gasped against him, gripping his arms tighter. His hand slid to the back of her neck, his tongue already laying claim to her—

“Ew,” Lily whined. “ _Cas_ , you _promised_.”

Lyssa pulled away from him. She was on her feet before she knew what she was doing, her hands flying to her hair.

“Lyssa, wait,” Casrien said weakly, scrambling to his feet.

She pulled off her shirt and threw it at him as she walked away. No more idiocy. They had to get free first, get out.

She shifted into her wolf form and vowed to stay that way.

—:—:—:—

“What do you mean I have to let him go?!” Azriel snarled. Derren stared at the ground at his feet. Silent unless spoken to, in which case he answered every question in as much detail as possible.

Casrien had done a piece of work on his mind.

Rhys clenched his fists, “I don’t like it anymore than you do. He wouldn’t have been caught without Casrien. We can’t give him away. I’ll unscramble his mind, you beat him to a pulp and let him ‘escape.’”

Azriel nodded, his shadows clinging tighter to his cheekbones. Keir was enjoying his disappointment. He sided with the Autumn Court in this ‘spat,’ as he called it. He was sure things would blow over.

After six hundred years, he still didn’t know Rhys. When Beron and his ilk died, so would Keir. Azriel would convince Mor. Cassian would side with him. The three of them would tear him apart; let the last lesson he was ever taught be to not touch their nephews or niece.

“He’ll wish he was dead,” Azriel said, sauntering away from their prisoner. He was at his full height when he passed Keir, sneering.

_Give your report upstairs_ , Rhys ordered. Azriel didn’t even nod. He wove through the passageways at Rhys’s back, his shoulders relaxing only marginally when they left Keir at his office.

Aelia and Nesta were waiting in the moonstone palace. Nesta gave Azriel no more than a short nod. Aelia moved closer to her instinctively. Smart.

“Casrien is moving toward Summer,” Rhys said, scanning the room the same way Azriel did. Both frowned.

“Where’s Israen?” Azriel asked. Aelia and Nesta both flinched.

“What did you do?” Rhys demanded lowly. Nesta’s burning eyes snapped to him.

“I don’t need you to parent my child, you oversized bat,” Nesta spat. “It’s little of your concern.”

“Did he agree or not?” Azriel asked.

“He did,” Aelia muttered. Azriel’s eyes narrowed. They’d had a fight. Their first, and a bad one. “But I don’t think we should do it anymore.”

Nesta’s hand touched her shoulder. She was shrugged off. Aelia was in a mood. The marble at her feet was slowly turning to crystal.

Azriel stepped forward, using his Siphons to push Aelia back a toward Nesta. His sister-in-law gave a foul oath and threatened his means of reproduction. Azriel paid her little mind. He crouched to the floor. Azriel swore almost as much as Nesta had, “Rhys.”

“Mother’s tits.” Where Aelia had stood was flawless diamond.

“Why do I keep doing that?” Aelia hissed, moving away from them. Panic surged through her scent. This time some gleaming metal leeched through the wall she backed into. From what Azriel had heard, Israen had brought her out of it last time.

“Where did he go?” Azriel demanded. Rhys and Nesta had better chances at controlling Aelia’s surging power than he did. Nesta met his eyes.

“He didn’t say,” she whispered.

Which meant he had gone where he always went when he was disappointed with the Inner Circle’s decisions.

“I’ll be back,” Azriel muttered, sprinting for the nearest balcony. He tore off into the night sky, winnowing when he’d left the wards.

Adriata loomed beneath him.

—:—:—:—

“He’s all right,” Lucien burst into the room, having been unsuccessful at mentally shouting it at those inside. Nesta and Rhys were preparing to return to Summer with Aelia. Azriel was at the Court of Nightmares. Feyre should’ve been asleep, as far as Lucien was concerned. She’d finally dropped the stupid glamour. She looked like shit. Cassian had his sword half drawn by the time the door slammed into the wall. Feyre met his eyes evenly. “Elain saw him in Autumn, he has Derren’s knowledge. They’re going to make it to the border.”

The tension in Feyre’s shoulders lessened significantly. Cassian let out a slow breath, giving her a brief but reassuring touch. “I’ll tell Nesta. Once we find Israen-“

“They took Israen?!” Lucien demanded. They had already captured Derren, and from what Lucien had been told, Casrien had fucked his brother up. Lucien didn’t mind, he was actually mildly impressed and vaguely proud.

“No. He’s …” Feyre glanced to Cassian before muttering, “Off brooding somewhere.”

Cassian was silent for a moment, “They’re going to release Derren first. Then they’re going to Tarquin. If there’s a chance they can make it out, she wants to drag Tamlin in to … help with the barrier.”

“We need to get word to Mor and Helion,” Feyre murmured.

“Showing up in Kallias’s lands should be enough to get his attention. Vivianne can signal her,” Cassian said. He shrugged, “They don’t have to stay long.”

Lucien felt guilt coil down his spine. His fingers twitched into fists, “Elain saw Lily and Casrien get free.”

Feyre stopped breathing for long enough that Cassian gently touched her arm. She looked at him with wild eyes. Cassian said, “Elain can only see so much and it can change, Feyre. Don’t put too much stock in it.”

“He’s right,” Lucien murmured. Feyre’s eyes burned and Cassian flinched, stepping away from her.

“I’m going with.”

“No,” Cassian crossed his arms. Lucien subtly stepped between her and the door. “No, Feyre, you are staying here, where we can protect you.”

“I just want my son back,” Feyre shook her head. “Nothing else matters.”

“What matters is you shredding yourself apart,” Lucien said quietly.

“Nesta still mourns the children we lost before they reached us,” Cassian said, so lowly Lucien had to strain to hear him. He touched Feyre’s shoulder gently. “She still bears the guilt of losing them, even though it was not her fault. You can’t let this destroy you, Feyre.”

“When it went dark,” Feyre whispered. “I chose her over Casrien.”

The room had never been so still. Lucien felt wildly out of place. He shifted slightly on his feet as Cassian let out a slow breath. Feyre just glared at her clenched fists, resting on the table before her.

“And I keep _letting_ everyone choose her over Casrien,” Feyre said, a dangerous edge in her voice. “I am _going_.”

“Rhys will do exactly what he did at the masquerade,” Cassian murmured. “He will choose you and your unborn over Casrien, and he will share your guilt. But you can’t expect him to do anything else. You are his mate.”

“Casrien is our _child!_ ” Feyre spat. “Don’t you stupid Fae _care_ about that?!”

“Feyre, please,” Cassian said gently. “You aren’t abandoning him. Casrien can take care of himself, this one can’t.” Cassian gestured to her swollen stomach. “That is why the bond chooses her.”

Feyre caved, her shoulders drooping as Cassian pulled her into an embrace. “We’ll get them back.”

—:—:—:—

Casrien kept one hand in Lyssa’s fur as they moved through the forest. She’d given him the night-seeing eyes of a cat. He could the sentries as they passed, moving in the patterns they used during times of high alert.

They may have had Lyssa’s family in the south and Casrien’s allies to the west, but they moved north. To his Uncle Kallias. Lyssa had tried to argue that the brother-in-law of his aunt’s lover wasn’t actually his uncle, but Casrien paid her no mind. Kallias liked to pretend that he hardly cared about Casrien, but anytime they saw each other, Kallias would shake his hand and slip him a candy and a note. Usually it was some tip for controlling the ice.

And maybe it was the kernel of power Casrien had from him, but he couldn’t help liking Kallias just a touch more than Tarquin.

Lyssa had looked at him like he was crazy, _You like the detached Lord of Winter over the involved Lord of Summer?_

He had coated her fur in frost, which had earned him a nip at his hand. Lily had laughed and had to be quieted. Casrien was still grinning when they came across one of many small streams.

Only it wasn’t so small. Derren’s memory said it was deceptively deep and swift. Casrien’s hand tightened in Lyssa’s fur to warn her. She stopped carefully, sniffing at the water. “It’s far over our heads.”

Far, far over Lily’s.

Casrien set Lily down next to Lyssa, stepping to the edge. He held out a hand, trying to push at the water with his ice. They were moving closer to the seat of that power, it should’ve been easy.

To his surprise, it was. Ice crackled across the water, shooting clean across to the other side. Casrien grinned. He could get used to his powers responding to his commands. The ice was too thin; it broadened at his order. The ice could not bear weight; it clawed down into the river until it could.

Casrien set Lily on Lyssa’s back and beckoned them to move over. He kept one hand in the freezing river as they did, keeping the ice from shifting. They reached the other side quickly.

Lyssa was giving him that wolf’s grin. She was too focused on him.

_Casrien takes the opportunity. Lily makes a hole in the barrier, and he dives through it after her, holding onto Lyssa behind him. She slips out of his grasp, yanked back by Beron’s grip on her hair. Casrien shouts, but it’s too late; his father has a tight grip on him and won’t let him go back for her._

Casrien shuddered at the mere memory of the vision. He started across his bridge, trying to keep his eyes on the ice instead of her. But there was movement behind her, and she didn’t see it. Lily did, but she was too young to send fire after the sentry that had snuck up on them.

Casrien took a step across the ice, starting to run. Instead, he pressed through a strange void and crashed into the sentry, slamming the Fae into a tree with his shoulder. The Fae groaned, and Casrien speared into his mind, erasing their presence from his memory. He motioned to Lyssa and they sprinted into the woods. They didn’t stop running for a long while, Casrien’s heart racing for another reason entirely.

He could winnow.

—:—:—:—

“Aelia is who she is,” Tarquin murmured, resting a hand on Israen’s shoulder. He was wearing seven Siphons, orange this time. Tarquin was fairly sure the Illyrians would soon be running out of the precious stones altogether. “She keeps her thoughts close, she thinks it keeps her safe.”

“I know,” Israen said quietly. Tarquin had found him on the balcony connected to Aelia’s room. It overlooked the glittering sea. Israen was staring almost straight down, his head low. Tarquin let his knuckles brush against the short hairs at the top of Israen’s neck affectionately before he rested his hands on the railing.

“For what it’s worth,” Tarquin said gently. “I didn’t like the plan very much either.”

Israen let out a wry huff of laughter that made his eyes flicker. “She has no idea what she’s doing.”

“This is her first real test of what I’ve been trying to teach her for nearly three decades,” Tarquin admitted. “So, no. She doesn’t.”

“She has no idea what she’s doing, and she came up with a better idea than any of my aunts or uncles,” Israen said lowly. Tarquin waited for him to continue. He knew Nesta well enough to find the same cues in her son. His fingers drummed against the stone railing as he thought. “We’re all focused on getting Casrien and Lily back and destroying the Autumn Court. I’m safe, I may as well be my father to them. But Aelia just thinks about what happens if I was in Casrien’s place. She’s trying to think around it instead of go straight through it.”

Pride bristled in Tarquin. He’d taught her how to do that. By glamouring her power, something he probably shouldn’t have done. She wasn’t reliant on her power, which had ultimately been his goal. Now he just had to teach her how to control her abilities.

He’d definitely fucked up _just_ a little bit.

“And it’s a good plan,” Israen muttered.

“So your problem is?” Tarquin asked.

“She doesn’t think I would really want to …” Israen cleared his throat, wringing his hands. “She thought I would hate the idea because I wouldn’t …”

“But?”

“I like it here,” Israen whispered. “I grew up by the sea, in the mountains, but this … It’s nice here. Beautiful, and the people-“

“You can say that you want to marry my daughter,” Tarquin said, amused by Israen’s embarrassment. He didn’t like having emotions, he was too much like his parents for that. “It’s all right.”

“I couldn’t even tell _her_ that,” Israen said, his face beet red. Tarquin touched his shoulder, standing straight as Azriel dropped out of the sky and came to hover in front of them.

“She lost control.”

Tarquin nearly lunged for the hand Azriel held out to his nephew. Instead, the Shadowsinger said, “Derren thinks they’re coming to the border town Varian took you to.”

“We’ll ready supplies in case we can’t get them through,” Tarquin nodded. Israen jumped off the balcony, disappearing into the city moments later. Tarquin watched him wistfully. The closest he’d ever get to flying was sailing. It used to be enough.

“Israen doesn’t know Tamlin’s place in Aelia’s plan,” Azriel said. Tarquin flinched.

“And I have to tell him. Great,” Tarquin muttered.

“Arrianne will keep him in check,” Azriel said with a shrug. “Good luck.”

—:—:—:—

Cassian and the Cursebreaker had come together. Rhysand’s face had curdled into something truly feral when he saw them. Cassian was blasted off his feet before he could step away from the Cursebreaker. Aelia’s fear had surged. The floor had cracked in two, ending at Rhysand’s feet. Or, she thought it had. As the Cursebreaker whirled, flame in her hand, Aelia saw that it was nothing but gleaming obsidian. She wanted to curl up and die, but the cold radiating out of her core did not show any sign of stopping. Not even when the Cursebreaker calmed enough to try to talk her through it again.

Israen’s scent hit her a second before he skidded around the corner, slipping on the pure silver at his feet. His eyes widened when he saw her. She was so stupid to think he would just blindly agree to her plan when they had said it wouldn’t ever be anymore than a convenient distraction. To think he would willingly leave his home for her.

“Aelia,” he stopped for a moment before coming closer. She wanted to tell him to keep back, to apologize, to tell him what she had always managed to avoid saying. His hands were firm against her neck, his lips soft against hers, his body a massive weight that shifted the world into the right place, his warmth enough to stop the power pouring out of her very bones. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she murmured back, scratching her fingers against his scalp. “I’m sorry.”

“I think your father wants me to marry you, and I’m inclined to do it,” Israen said against her. Aelia opened her eyes. He wasn’t joking. She traced his cheekbones lightly.

“Later,” Aelia muttered, drawing him back to her. She smiled into his mouth, “When half your family isn’t watching.”

“They better leave, or they’re going to see something they don’t want to,” Israen bit her lip and let his hands drift down her body.

“Take me home, Israen,” Aelia said. He gripped her waist and they were winnowing. They landed, salty air and a familiar sea breeze brushing past her. He pushed her against the wall of her room. She moaned softly as his lips trailed down her jaw. “My father will have sensed that.”

“He already knew you were coming,” Israen said.

“That’s a strange thing for him to know.”

“Here. Coming here,” Israen flicked her hip gently. “Dirty-minded brat.”

Aelia gripped his flying leathers and twisted them to push him against the wall. Her fingers worked efficiently at the latches and ties she’d recently become familiar with. “You like my dirty mind.”

“I do,” Israen admitted, panting under her gaze. She dipped her hand down the front of his trousers, his hips rolling as he groaned. “Aelia.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Aelia murmured, kissing him.

“Like hell, I’m leaving you,” Israen answered.

She wondered if his sun tattoo would ever be free of bruises from her mouth.

—:—:—:—

“He does know that they aren’t supposed to go to Adriata yet, doesn’t he?” Rhys asked, wrapping his arms around Feyre’s middle. She wanted to say that she was still upset with him for trying to hurt Cassian, but the mating bond had absolutely purred when he’d done it. It always seemed to be Cassian, even though he was as much Feyre’s brother as he was Rhys’s. At least he didn’t complain.

“Why don’t you try pulling his head out from between Aelia’s thighs long enough to tell him that?” Cassian asked, moving closer to examine the precious stones now imbedded in the floor.

“Cassian!” Feyre and Nesta chided. Nesta was still giving Rhys dirty glares.

Azriel landed before Cassian could try to defend himself, ruffling his wings. “I sent Tarquin to Spring.”

“I have a feeling we’re going to be hearing about this for the next fifty years,” Feyre murmured.

—:—:—:—

Arrianne was having a bad morning before her second cousin once removed showed up for breakfast. She had found her husband making plans to sneak off with a small group of sentries, she had a headache that had persisted through the night, and her daughter was still gone. She and Tamlin were having a quiet, terse breakfast reminiscent of the early days of their marriage when their visitor was escorted inside.

“Tarquin,” Arrianne’s smile was more forced than it had been in a long while. Tamlin touched her hand softly. She resisted the urge to pull it away. “How is Aelia?”

“With Israen, no doubt,” Tarquin said easily. Arrianne tried not to show her discomfort. She’d forgotten how freely Tarquin discussed that particular subject. “That’s part of the reason that I’m here, actually.”

“Is it?” Tamlin’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. Aelia had been in the Night Court since the masquerade. Arrianne knew that Tamlin still harbored the ridiculous theory that Aelia was being ‘turned’ to their way of thinking. She didn’t, however, pretend to know what he meant by that.

“Montesere is trying to buy Israen and Casrien from Beron,” Tarquin said. Arrianne waited in silence for him to continue. “They have the forces to defeat the Night Court if it comes to war, but they don’t stand a chance against even a half united Prythian.”

“So?” Tamlin prompted at Tarquin’s hesitation.

“Israen and Aelia are engaged,” Tarquin said. “We stand with the Night Court.”

“You want us to say Lyssa is engaged to Casrien,” Arrianne said quietly. “Is that it?”

Tamlin’s claws scraped the table. He hadn’t done that in two decades. Arrianne touched his forearm gently. He said lowly, “They won’t believe it.”

“They don’t have a choice but to,” Tarquin said. “They can’t risk it.”

“Are Aelia and Israen actually engaged or is it the same way for them?” Arrianne asked. Tamlin gave her an exasperated look. She shrugged. She wanted to know.

“I’m not sure anymore,” Tarquin admitted. “It depends on what Aelia decides.”

Which meant the Cursebreaker’s nephew had asked Tarquin for her hand. Interesting.

“Rhysand doesn’t need me to win a war against Montesere,” Tamlin said lowly.

“A priestess cannot lawfully bind a faerie to another if they are promised to someone else unless the two are mates,” Tarquin said quietly. Tamlin’s claws scraped deeper into the wood. “Beron has two unwed sons. Aelia is doing this for Lyssa as much as Casrien.”

Arrianne couldn’t help the muffled sound that left her. Tamlin’s claws retracted as he took her hand in his. Tarquin seemed to have run out of things to tell them. Arrianne met his eyes. He would never beg them. Not with his words. She could see the prayers being recanted silently in his eyes.

“We’ll talk to Rhysand about how to announce it,” she said softly.

“Arri,” Tamlin said, running his hand across the back of her hand. Tarquin nodded, relief touching the set of his mouth and shoulders. Arrianne nodded back.

“Rhys will be in Adriata tomorrow. I suggest you join us,” Tarquin bowed and left. Arrianne pushed her unfinished plate away from her and rubbed at her face.

“Our daughter does not belong-“

“She decides where she does and does not belong, Tam,” Arrianne reminded him quietly. He growled and stood up. “This was not Rhysand’s plan. He is not trying to take her. Aelia is her friend, she is trying to help.”

“I know that,” Tamlin grumbled. He settled his face in his hands. “Is this really the only choice we have left? Give her to the Night Court or the Autumn Court?”

“No,” Arrianne said. “It is whether we let the Autumn Court _take her_ or not. Derren and Cervan are cruel, vile beasts and they will not be kind to her.” Arrianne’s voice broke. “So, yes, I _would_ give her to the Night Court. But it’s a _lie_ , Tam. That’s all it is.”

“I’m not-“ Tamlin let out a long breath before admitting. “I’m not good at this.”

“I know, love,” Arrianne rose out of her chair. He quickly pulled her into his arms. She touched his face gently. “I know. But for Lyssa, we have to do this.”

“I love you,” Tamlin murmured, kissing her softly. She answered in kind, wishing he alone could fill the hole growing in her heart.

She was dangerously aware that nothing but Lyssa could.

—:—:—:—

They had just turned Derren loose in the barren lands beneath the southern border when Lucien and Elain winnowed to them. Elain was pale, paler than she’d ever been. Nesta rushed to her sister’s side, pulling her away from the others.

“What did you see?” Nesta demanded. Elain’s eyes were wide.

“It changed,” she whispered. “It changed. He changed it.”

“They’re going to the Winter Court,” Lucien said. Nesta glanced at Rhys. Feyre was back with Cassian, though she’d given Azriel strict orders to stay with them as well. She didn’t need her husband beat up by the one person Nesta couldn’t fight and win against. Even if she targeted Rhys’s wings, Feyre would step in to stop her, and that would just be bothersome.

“He should know we’re going to be in the Summer Court,” Rhys frowned. “Derren did.”

“Rhys didn’t let Cas save her,” Elain whispered. Nesta doubted the others could hear her. “So he changed it.”

Casrien had seen the same thing Elain had. It hadn’t happened too often before, but when it did, the two Seers had always boasted about it, swapping jokes about a future no one else saw. Nesta hadn’t seen Elain so disheveled in years.

“She’s covered in blood, Nes,” Elain fell forward into Nesta’s embrace. Nesta could feel her sister’s tears soaking into her dress. “My little Lily.”

Nesta cursed silently, holding Elain gently. She glanced at Rhys, opening her mind a sliver.

_What did she see?_

_She saw you keeping Cas safe at the cost of Tamlin’s daughter. Cas saw the same thing and he_ changed _it. So you can’t let him save her. Otherwise … Lily will end up hurt._

Rhys’s hands shook. _We don’t know that. Meddling with the future has never worked in our favor._

Nesta seethed, baring her teeth at him. She would choose little Cas and Lily over Tamlin’s daughter every damn time. But Rhys was too concerned about Tamlin’s reaction. If Tamlin had a problem, he could step up and help them. He didn’t get a say for standing around and being useless.

“We have to go to Summer. We’ll find a way through,” Rhys said. Lucien nodded. Elain quieted in Nesta’s arms. Nesta pushed her hair out of her face.

“We’ll get Lily back, Elain. I swear it,” Nesta said fiercely, gripping her shoulders tightly enough that Elain would register it. She nodded numbly, drifting away from her back to her mate.

“Keep Feyre company,” Rhys requested quietly, his jaw tight as he watched Lucien take Elain’s hand. They winnowed home after a moment.

“Because Lucien, a mated male, and Azriel, an unmated male, are somehow more trustworthy than Cassian, a mated male,” Nesta said drily. Rhys definitely looked uncomfortable under her blazing gaze.

“Feyre never asked me to invite Azriel or Lucien to her room on her behalf,” Rhys muttered.

Nesta rolled her eyes. Feyre had told her about that the first time she was pregnant. Rhys hadn’t forgotten about it, and while she had meant it to get at him all those years ago, she hadn’t realized it would stay with him for so long.

“Thank the stars for that,” Nesta held out her hand. “Now, are we going to Adriata, or would you like to continue to hold on to the past?”

“You are uniquely unlikeable,” Rhys grumbled, gripping her forearm. Nesta smiled. It was as close as he would get to admitting she was well suited to managing Cassian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first thing I ever thought up for this story was Tamlin's daughter letting Elucien's ride her back while in wolf form, Feysand's son leading them through a forest. And then . . . this happened.


	8. The Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casrien and Lyssa say hello to their fathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally added the wrong chapter for this bastard, my b.

By the time they reached the end of the sentries’ watch, Lyssa was seeing spots. Casrien found a cave almost immediately, and they ducked inside. She distinctly recalled him telling her that he couldn’t winnow. But he had. The look on his face as his eyes slid from her, to Lily, and beyond would never leave her.

He had been terrified. For her, for Lily. Lyssa didn’t think that anyone had been terrified for her before. Worried, of course, but Casrien …

He pulled Lily off her back and she circled a dry spot twice before she lay down. Casrien watched her with concern. Lily curled up into her side, small hands digging into her coat for warmth. It had gotten frightfully cold as they entered the mountains. Casrien sat down beside her, idly scratching between her ears until she lifted her head into his lap. He stroked along her jaw. Lyssa’s tail thumped happily.

“He never planned to hurt Lily,” said Casrien when the girl had fallen to sleep. She slept so much more than Lyssa had realized a six-year-old could sleep. “He wanted for me to be scared and tell her things to prove me wrong to her. He wanted her to choose Autumn.”

Lyssa blinked up at him slowly. Why would he want to steal a grandchild he didn’t believe to be his?

“To take something from Uncle Lucien,” Casrien murmured. Lyssa didn’t think she’d ever hate someone so much to go so far to hurt them. Casrien sighed, slumping slightly against the stone behind him. “I don’t think our parents will understand this.”

Lyssa nipped at his hand gently. This wasn’t the time for that conversation. Not when she couldn’t even talk.

Her father had made sure her mental shields were nothing short of flawless. So when Casrien pressed his mind against hers, like tapping a finger on a window, she didn’t  _have_  to let him in. He was aware of it too, judging by the pleased surprise he impressed upon her when she did.

_This might be the only time they give us for this conversation,_ Casrien said mildly. He stroked her snout from her nose to the crown of her head.

_I’m not going to let them separate us. If Israen can sneak into the Summer Court, so can we,_  Lyssa said. She was glad that wolves did not visibly blush, but Casrien was more attuned to her thoughts than ever.

_And what exactly would we do on these excursions, Lyssa?_  He was thinking about the glimpse of her back he’d had before she’d shifted the last time. He was thinking about kissing his way up her spine to her neck. He was thinking about kissing her like they had all the time in the world.

Lyssa didn’t realize that he hadn’t meant to share them until the images pulled away sharply, replaced by a muted apology. He may well have covered the sun; Lyssa shivered at the loss of warmth.

_Some of that,_  Lyssa said lowly. He would say her name like a prayer as she sunk onto him. Casrien groaned aloud, like he could feel it, and his mind pulled away momentarily. She basically had to shout,  _We’ll find a way. Aelia will help us._

_I think Israen and my uncle might, too._

_Which one?_

_Lucien,_  Casrien answered.  _He spent a lot of time away from Aunt Elain, but they were always communicating somehow and hiding it from Aunt Nesta. He’ll know what to do._

_My mother probably won’t tell on me until it’s too late to stop me,_ Lyssa admitted.

_I didn’t figure her as a trouble-maker._

_More like trouble-ignorer._

Casrien laughed, and the sound was as pure aloud as it was in her mind.

—:—:—:—

“Well?” Nesta said irately. Amren just shook her head. Varian looked grumpier than usual, which was impressive. Nesta resisted the urge to kick something—or someone. The barrier was impervious to everything but the powers of the High Lords, and it was too strong to be brought down by Tarquin and Rhys alone.

“Is there any way to go beneath it?” Aelia asked. Nesta tried to ignore the bruises along her neck, even though Israen’s smug glances toward them were clear as daylight through glass.

“It stretches far enough down that there’s little point,” Varian answered. Aelia groaned, pulling her loose hair over her shoulder and starting to braid it.

“Where is your father’s tattoo?”

“Israen, stay on task,” Nesta reminded him. His face turned crimson. He’d done what Cassian did so often: thought aloud when he meant to be silent.

“Even if all the others were here, it’d take too long,” Varian said. Rhys and Tarquin were sparring to work off some sort of energy that evidently came over High Lords when they decided to marry their children, and were going to continue to do so until Tamlin arrived at noon.

Nesta suspected they were actually nursing hangovers and were too proud to admit it.

“Well, sitting around bemoaning the fact that it will take too long is only wasting more time,” Israen said shortly. “Have you tried the Illyrian power against it?”

“Do I look like I collect stray Illyrians?” Varian demanded. Aelia stood, grabbing Israen by the front of his flying leathers.

“We’ll be back by sundown.”

“You’ll be back by noon or I’m sending Cresseida after you!” Varian warned.

“Oh, she never leaves Adriata,” Aelia rolled her eyes.

“She will!”

“She’ll cut off your balls, is what she’ll do, Varian!”

“I can see why you like it here,” Nesta said to Amren as the door swung shut behind the pair. Amren gave a merciless smile but didn’t answer.

Nesta paced for what seemed like days before Varian said, “Are they really betrothed, or is this like your scheme with Tamlin’s girl?”

“That depends entirely on them,” Nesta said coolly. A tremor ran through the castle. She looked to the doors just before Rhys sprinted through them.

“He’s at the border.”

—:—:—:—

Rhys left Tarquin to send word to the Spring Court and took to the skies, carrying only Nesta. They raced into Winter Court territory, following the mountain range. Nesta didn’t complain about the cold; Rhys didn’t feel it.

He could still sense the barrier intact on the Autumn side, flying along it until Nesta gasped and pointed.

Casrien was so, so near the barrier, his cousin on his back.

A giant wolf prowled behind them.

“ _CASRIEN!_ ” Rhys roared, dropping altitude rapidly. Nesta winnowed them to the ground. Snow and ice went flying in every direction. His son’s head whipped toward him.

“Dad!” Casrien launched himself into a sprint, skidding to a stop and pressing his hand to the barrier.

“Behind you!” Casrien whirled at Nesta’s warning. Rhys faced his son on the other side of the barrier. To his surprise, Casrien merely laughed.

“That’s just Lyssa.”

Rhys put his hand against the barrier. There was only a thin layer of magic between his skin and his son’s. “Are you all right?”

“As much as I can be,” Casrien muttered. “Since Lily has Autumn Court blood, we think she’ll have an easier time getting through.”

“Lucien isn’t-“

“I know, Dad. Lady Autumn is keyed into the wards,” Casrien said. He glanced back at the wolf. “Stop that, you can change in the cave.”

The wolf snarled and snapped her teeth.  _Lyssa_. Rhys almost didn’t believe it. Casrien threw a satchel at her and she caught it in her mouth. The wolf ran off around the mountain and out of sight. Casrien watched her go. Rhys knew it was trouble by the soft look in his eyes.

“Cas, we’re going to find a way through to you,” Nesta said calmly. Casrien looked at her.

“Did Israen survive it?” he asked, his face tight with guilt. “I had to give them the Siphon idea or they never would’ve-“

“He’s all right,” Nesta said gently. “But I doubt Aelia will forgive you so easily.”

“How’d you make them think you were going to Summer?” Rhys asked. Casrien smiled.

“Lyssa. She made a few squirrels into wolves,” he said, a dangerous note of pride in his voice.

“And how are you, Lily?” Rhys asked the brown-eyed princess on his son’s back. Lily smiled at him, though her teeth were chattering.

“The people here know Daddy,” she said brightly. “They’re my family.”

Casrien’s worried face told him enough about that. Beron had likely never planned to harm the girl. He wanted to bribe her to his side. It’d hurt Lucien far more.

“Where’s Mom?” Casrien asked quietly.

“Casrien!” A female voice shouted. Casrien turned to see Tamlin’s daughter. Her hair was shorter and grimier than memory served. All three of them had paler skin than usual. She ran across the open snow field toward him. Casrien set Lily down in the snow and caught her as she flew into his arms. She was laughing lowly. Rhys let his hand fall from the barrier. “We made it.”

Nesta knelt in the snow in front of Lily, murmuring quiet questions to her. Rhys left her to it. He felt Tarquin and Tamlin winnow beside him. Felt the raging power slam with his against the barrier, to little result. It hardly even shuddered.

“Father,” Lyssa pulled herself off Casrien and pressed her forehead to the barrier. Tamlin’s met it swiftly. Again, she said, “We made it.”

Rhys’s power tingled. That couldn’t be good.

An arrow dropped from the sky, catching her in the heel. Casrien was at Lyssa’s side in an instant, catching her as she twisted with a cry of pain. Ice tore up the ground behind him, forming a semi-circle of outward facing spikes around them. Tamlin followed his daughter to the ground, crouching not a foot from her, trying to reach through the barrier to her. The snow around her glittered red. Rhys pounded on the invisible barrier, throwing his power at it. It hardly budged at all.

Beron appeared on the snow, flanked by two of his sons. He sneered at Rhys, raising an eyebrow when he noticed Tamlin beside him. Tarquin had taken up a post by Nesta, trying to distract Lily.

Beron laughed. Casrien’s head whipped toward him. He snarled, easing Lyssa to the ground. He put himself between the High Lord and Lyssa. Rhys wanted to scream at him not to be so damn stupid.

“I thought it was interesting, Rhysand … Tamlin,” Beron said, ambling closer to the meager fortification. “Neither of them have any idea why you hate each other.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Tamlin snarled, still trying to touch his daughter’s hand, less than an inch from his.

“She calls his family brutes and he calls her family snobs and then they laugh about it,” Casrien’s fists clenched as Beron talked. “And little Lily giggles and giggles.”

“Look at me, Lily,” Nesta said, a little too urgently. “Don’t pay him any mind.”

“Lily, my dear, I’m going to tell you a story,” said Beron.

“Lily, look,” Tarquin created a small rabbit out of water, making it hop from one hand to the next. He gasped and pulled Nesta aside. “Cas!”

Fire exploded through Casrien’s spikes, sending them flying. He grabbed Lily’s arm and hugged her to him, summoning his wings to protect Lyssa.

“Cas, no!” Rhys slammed his fist into the barrier as his son’s wings were peppered by shards of ice. He landed hard on his side, next to Lyssa. Blood started to drip to the ground from them, Casrien’s face going pale. “Cas, get up. You have to get up.”

“Lyssa, your grandfather and uncles feared Casrien’s father. They knew he would grow to be the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history. The War hadn’t killed him. They thought they could.”

“Is this really the time?!” Rhys snarled. He didn’t want to relive this while his son was bleeding to death. He didn’t care if Beron took them back, so long as someone saw to Casrien’s wings. If they didn’t heal properly, he’d be grounded indefinitely.

Beron continued, “I wonder, Casrien, if your father ever talks about his sister. Eriada, wasn’t it?”

Rhys hadn’t heard the name in three hundred years, and it nearly dragged him to his knees. He met Casrien’s confused and pained eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Your aunt and grandmother were going to see him in the Illyrian Steppes. And Lyssa’s father brought his brothers and father right to them. Your father was supposed to meet them, but he got caught up in training. So they raped and murdered your  grandmother and aunt. How old was she, Rhysand? Lyssa’s age? Younger?”

So,  _so_  young, and wild and fierce.

“And your father and grandfather wanted blood for blood, Casrien. They stole into the Spring Court. They killed Lyssa’s uncles, they killed her grandfather and her grandmother. And Lyssa’s father killed your grandfather,” Beron said. “That is how it went, isn’t it?”

“You’re lying,” Lyssa hissed, gripping Casrien’s shoulder and pulling herself to her knees. Lily crawled away from them back to Nesta, tears streaming down her face. Lyssa and Casrien shifted one another to block her from sight. “My father wouldn’t do that!”

“Mine would,” Casrien muttered. It wasn’t shame that tinted his voice. It was cold determination, justice. “He took their wings, didn’t he?”

Beron laughed, “Indeed.”

Lyssa looked back at Tamlin, her eyes wide. Rhys knew that look. Sheer, horrific betrayal.

Beron was reveling in it. Casrien’s wings shifted, and Rhys immediately knew what was going to happen. He could hardly reach to his son’s mind before it did, only to find himself thoroughly blocked out. Casrien winked at Lyssa.

Daggers of hoarfrost, dozens of them, shot out of the snow towards Beron and his sons. A slab of ice rose out of the ground, blocking Lily and Lyssa in.

“You’re a filthy coward, Beron,” Casrien said, standing between the High Lord and his new fortifications. Light twisted around the tears in his wings, slowly sewing them back together. Rhys slammed his palm into the barrier. He felt Tamlin and Tarquin’s power twining with his. But without a way in, it would take ages, like waves beating at a cliff.

Casrien looked back at Lyssa for a heartbeat, a smiling pulling at his lips. She nodded, just barely, dragging Lily farther from the border, up against the wall of ice. “Stay here.”

He began running toward Beron. Rhys’s heart seized in his chest. Then he disappeared; one second, taking a step closer to Beron, the next second, behind the Autumnlings. Tarquin let out a strange sort of relieved laugh that Rhys echoed.

Cas could winnow.

“Stay quiet,” Lyssa said, loud enough that it was and wasn’t for Lily. She shifted, shrinking down into a red-tailed hawk, flapping her wings before she could land. One of her clawed feet was bleeding, the arrow still inside it. It took her a moment to adjust. She shot upward into the air, circling toward the Autumnlings. The one with the bow took aim at her, the others twisting to find Casrien, who was winnowing like his mother, hardly in their plane of existence for long enough to spot, ice crackling out of empty space toward the Autumn Court.

Kallias winnowed in. He knelt beside Nesta, his power a wedge trying to crack the barrier directly before him. Rhys pummeled it again. Then Tarquin. Tamlin. Rhys again.

Casrien winnowed, taking a dagger from Derren. He was out of sight for a heartbeat. Lyssa dove, talons slashing, her mass shifting, landing on Derren before he could note the missing weapon. She was a wolf for all of three seconds, tearing at his shoulder, then she was a bird again, too small to note what type, soaring back to Lily. Casrien was behind Beron again.

“Beron!” Tamlin shouted, keeping his focus for Casrien. Casrien slashed, drawing blood from the High Lord of Autumn. Beron roared. Lyssa rematerialized in her Fae form beside Lily, wiping her mouth and grabbing Lily’s wrist, marking her. Casrien dropped the dagger and grabbed Beron’s wound, dancing out of range before the second Autumnling could harm him. Lyssa turned away and threw up blood and bits of tissue. Casrien winnowed behind his ice wall. Everywhere he had been were droplets of blood, steaming against the snow. He hadn’t hidden his wings. He smeared Beron’s blood across Lily’s neck and shoulder, then threw her at the barrier.

Nesta caught her, immediately retreating.

All four High Lords focused on that tiny hole as she did, trying to rip open the barrier from that very spot.

Casrien and Lyssa were huddled beneath the ice wall. Rhys was only half paying attention as they grappled for a hold in the barrier. Casrien counted her down. Wood snapped, and Lyssa let out a low, pained whimper. Removing the arrow. Tamlin’s focus shifted.

“Tamlin,” Kallias groused. Immediately his power redoubled. They were getting it open, but too slowly. Casrien’s hand glowed with his healing power. He and Lyssa spoke swiftly, quietly.

Casrien’s wall of ice shattered. Casrien and Lyssa shot off into sprints, moving in opposite directions. Derren went after Lyssa, Cervan after Casrien. Casrien had one eye on Lyssa the whole time, judging by the way he moved just fractionally slower. Or, perhaps it was his wings. He hadn’t healed them while he had the chance, focusing on Lyssa instead.

_Idiot_.

“Rhys,” Kallias spat. “Come on.”

“Enough!” Beron roared.

“No!” Casrien screamed. Then he winnowed, one step running for the caves, the next directly between Lyssa and the spear of magic Beron had sent toward her. Rhys bellowed and pounded on the barrier with his fist and his power as Casrien screamed again, wordlessly. His back arched, his fingers twitching.

“Casrien!” Rhys shouted. Lyssa had stopped, was wasting her opportunity, watching in horror instead of  _doing something_. Rhys wanted to scream at her for it. Casrien dropped down into the snow beside Lyssa, unsteadily climbing to his feet. Steam curled from his chest. Tamlin’s power beat against the barrier, followed quickly by Tarquin’s.

Casrien called ice to his side, staving off Derren, keeping him away from Lyssa. He was barely even standing. Rhys tried to ignore the scents washing over from the other side of the barrier, particularly that of his son’s blood.

“Casrien!” Lyssa screamed, and Rhys and Tamlin’s focus slipped. Tarquin cursed and Kallias grunted. The hole started to close with the two of them the only ones holding it open.

Derren was pulling a dagger out of Casrien’s side. Lyssa was scrambling across the snow toward him. Beron winnowed to grab her by the hair and haul her upward. She struggled with enough direction that he dropped her twice before a second arrow landed in her back. Tamlin gave a feral snarl, dragging talons down the barrier.

Helion and Mor winnowed in. Too late. Rhys speared his mind toward Derren desperately.

Derren grabbed Casrien by the throat and winnowed away. Beron took Lyssa. The last Autumnling sketched a bow before disappearing.

Rhys focused on that slowly closing hole in the barrier. He ripped it wide open, the other High Lords grunting with effort as they helped. It showed no sign of coming back together.

Mor caught his arm before he could run in. “We have to wait.”

Rhys growled at her so loudly Lily whimpered. He didn’t care. He was getting his son back. The barrier was down.

“Remember what my sister saw,” Nesta said, Lily held tightly in her arms. “They will kill him before they allow you to retrieve him.”

“He’ll kill them both,” Tarquin said. “And that gets us no where.”

Rhys closed his eyes, stepping back toward Winter. Mor let out a tight breath and released him. Rhys sat down beside his sister-in-law, watching his niece carefully. Tarquin bent and cleaned the blood off her.

“I don’t think I want to know how he knew that would work,” Helion murmured quietly as Rhys filled him in hastily.

“You don’t,” Rhys assured him.

“We know they’re keeping them in the same place now,” Kallias said quietly. “We don’t have to worry about finding them individually.”

“That might change,” Tamlin grumbled.

“Cas and Lyssa are like you and Uncle Cassie,” Lily’s said to Nesta. Rhys could have sworn Kallias dropped the temperature several degrees. He touched Lily’s cheek gently. She looked at him, eyes wide and brutally sincere.

“We missed you, Lily,” Rhys said, as though every High Lord had not gone completely still. As though Tamlin’s talons had not vengefully returned. Nesta stood, carrying the child to Mor. They winnowed away before his niece could become witness to the vulgarities no doubt on the tip of Tamlin’s tongue. “She’s a child. There’s no way of knowing what she means.”

“Regardless, most in Prythian aspire to be as  _dangerous_  as Cassian and Nesta, so it’s a compliment,” Helion tried. Rhys fixed him with a glare that warned he wasn’t really helping.

“And if they’re mated?” Kallias asked, glancing at Tarquin. Rhys saw the problem. Casrien was heir presumptive to the Night Court, Lyssa to the Spring Court. They couldn’t very well rule both.

Rhys let out a low breath, “You’ll know soon enough anyway. Back to Adriata?”

“Everyone’s invited,” Tarquin muttered, grasping Rhys’s forearm. Kallias grabbed Tarquin’s shoulder; Helion grabbed Rhys’s. Tamlin grabbed Helion.

Rhys wondered if Thesan would feel left out. Helion dropped his mental shield long enough to voice the same concern.

There was no small amount of fear from Tarquin’s staff as five of the High Lords of Prythian swept through his halls to the meeting room they’d been using. Even if three of them looked intimidated when Amren joined them.

“Nesta and Mor are in Velaris.”

How was he going to face Feyre after this? After coming so damn close?

“Thank you.”

The door closed and Rhys let out a breath, letting himself pace for once. He couldn’t sit. He might rip the city apart if he did. His power was flagging and wild and he missed his son and his mate.

“Feyre is with child,” he muttered. Kallias nodded, looking unsurprised. He’d heard the story of the Summer Solstice celebrations, no doubt. Tarquin blinked, no doubt thinking of his own wife. Both times Feyre had been pregnant, it had been when another Lady had been; first Arrianne, now Sonya. Rhys didn’t want to think about what it meant.

“Congratulations on the awful timing,” Helion said sympathetically.

“Lucien’s your son, Helion,” Rhys said, not waiting for Tamlin to express any sort of well-wishes. “That’s why Casrien had to get Beron’s blood on Lily. We think she can break through wards on her own if she has the slightest access to someone already keyed in. That’s how the hole’s in our wards were created. She wanted to go out and pick flowers.”

Helion coughed, as if choking on air alone, “Pardon?”

“Lucien is younger than the rest, Beron cracked down on your affair after he was born, Lucien has the power of an heir, the same as Eris. He looks enough like his mother to pass, but he looks little like Beron,” Rhys muttered quickly. “And Lily glows from time to time, which isn’t a talent she got from her mother.”

Helion cursed, covering his face with his hands. He didn’t stop cursing for a good while.

“Keeping any more secrets about us, Rhysand?” Tamlin snarled. Rhys muttered a foul oath under his breath. Tamlin made a low noise, his talons poking out of his knuckles.

Rhys growled back, baring his teeth, “You think I  _want_  him shredding his wings and taking blows for her?!”

“Lyssa can handle herself! She doesn’t  _need_  him to do jack shit!” Tamlin spat. Rhys rolled his eyes, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Are you two quite finished, or would you like to continue to waste time we don’t have?” Amren asked, softly but not gently. Not in a thousand years. “We have an entrance. The next step is to determine if Beron knows it exists or not.”

“How do you suggest we do that?” Tarquin asked drily. Amren turned to Kallias with a smile.

“Still have an eye on the bears in those mountains?”

—:—:—:—

“Lily!” Elain tried not to cry, she really did. But with her daughter jumping into her arms, clean, unharmed, and  _real_ , it was hard not to. She broken the promise to herself that she wouldn’t collapse when she saw her Lily. Lucien dropped to his knees beside her, his much longer arms wrapping around them both. He kissed Elain’s brow as she tucked her chin over Lily’s head. “We missed you so much, Lily.”

Elain’s older sister may well have been invisible where she was concerned.

“We love you, more than you could possibly understand,” Lucien said, pulling them tighter together. Elain leaned into him slightly as Lily pulled away to look at them. Elain wiped at her tears hurriedly.

“Why did Cas stay?” Lily asked. “He promised he wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“You aren’t alone, love,” Elain said, touching Lily’s cheek. “We’re here.”

“But why?” Lily insisted. Tears pricked Elain’s eyes again. Lily at the cost of Casrien and the Spring girl.

“Casrien stayed because he knew that we were going to come back for him,” Lucien said easily. “It’s just going to be him and Lyssa for a little bit, then I’m going to go with your uncles and we’re going to bring him back here.”

“And Lyssa?”

“A- And Lyssa,” Elain nodded. “She’ll go home, too.”

“Cas and Lyssa are like you,” Lily said, eyes wavering between her and Lucien.

“Really?” Elain asked.

“Did he tell Uncle Cassie?” Lily frowned suspiciously. She looked away with a pout. “He didn’t tell me.”

Lucien smiled, touching her strawberry blonde curls lightly.  _Fuck, Elain, they’re mated._

_How is Tamlin going to take that?_  Elain asked down their bond. He shrugged mentally. Elain stood, picking up Lily as she did, resting her on her hip. Lily leaned against her chest. Lucien took her hand.

_Feyre starts crying at the sight of him. Alone. He isn’t supposed to be alone._

Feyre and her entourage arrived at the townhouse before Elain could reach the door. Rhys winnowed in by himself a heartbeat later. Lucien wrapped his arm around Elain’s shoulder and tried to hurry her along.

She still heard the broken sob.

—:—:—:—

“I’m sorry,” Rhys murmured, rocking Feyre. He kissed the top of her head. He was glad Cassian and Azriel had disappeared with Mor and Nesta. His voice broke. “I tried. I was  _so damn close_.”

“What do we have to do to get him back?” Feyre demanded. Rhys knew what she was talking about.

“Don’t think like that,” he said quietly. “Please, I can’t lose anything else. I can’t lose you.”

“What if the Bone Carver only showed me him as a child-“

“Feyre,  _stop_ ,” Rhys said firmly, leaning back to look at her. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not. Casrien isn’t a child anymore. He knows how to stay alive. He’s fighting to get back to us.”

“He’s fighting harder to stay  _with her_ ,” Feyre said. Rhys winced, wishing Nesta had let him fill her in instead. “I would have killed for someone to go through that Bitch’s trials with. Someone I  _knew_  was on my side, instead having to hope I could trust people I’d been raised to distrust. I would have died for that person as much as I would’ve for …”

“I know,” Rhys said, touching his forehead to hers. “And I’m glad he isn’t alone the way you were.”

“We need to put Lily in the same room as Israen and Aelia,” Feyre murmured. “I think she can sense mating bonds with Helion’s spell-magick.”

“We can do that,” Rhys said. “Come back to Adriata with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Feyre breathed.

—:—:—:—

“It would seem that I underestimated you, Casrien,” Beron snarled. Lyssa crouched between him and Casrien, ignoring the glow behind her. Casrien was healing himself, his wings. The wings he’d summoned to shield her. They weren’t in the dungeon any more, but within the Forest House. It made Lyssa more nauseous with nerves than ever. Beron sat on a throne carved out of a massive tree that filtered the sunlight far above them. Lyssa and Casrien were in a well of sorts; three sides of the throne room were raised at about twice her height, broad steps connecting them to the marble floor. Knowing it was supposed to intimidate her did not help to combat the intimidating effects. The marble was black and gleaming, it made the well look more like a pit. Beron’s sons—the asshole ones—flanked him, with Eris and the fourth standing off to Beron’s left with the Lady of Autumn. Two females Lyssa had never seen before stood with them.

Casrien reached forward and touched her ankle. She had left him lying on the floor because she hadn’t wanted to steal his healing, but he was idiotically stubborn. His healing power raced up her spine to her shoulder, to the spot the second arrow had landed. Lyssa shifted out of his grasp. She wouldn’t let him waste his power on her. Beron laughed drily, “Look at them, Eris. So determined to save the other.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” Lyssa spat.

“You’d know. You were raised by one.”

Lyssa surged forward. She didn’t care if it was true or not; he was not allowed to talk about her father that way.

A wall of flames sprung to life in her path. Derren stepped through it, glee on his face as he approached. Lyssa punched him hard enough that he stumbled back, but he recovered easily. Lyssa did not care how many sons she had to go through. Beron was  _hers_. She was going to kill him so slowly he begged for death.

Eris wrapped his arms around her from behind and dragged her back toward Casrien. “You’re making this worse.”

Casrien growled as Eris dropped her, low and wild as a jungle cat. Eris was surprised by it, hastily backing away from her. One of the females stepped forward, but the last son barred her path with his arm.

“Tamlin’s temper remains,” Beron said. Lyssa snarled. Casrien reached for her again. The warmth of his healing filled her. She hoped his wings were healed, because she did not have it in herself to pull away from him twice. When her shoulder had healed, the light faded away, so she guessed his wings were fixed. “I’ll admit; I didn’t expect you to go north. I suppose I should’ve, considering Lucien took the Cursebreaker that way all those years ago. I thought Lyssa would fight more, but she’s quite taken with you, Casrien.”

“Go to hell,” Casrien snarled, weaker than Lyssa would’ve liked but strong enough.

“Thank you, for testing the barrier for me. Four High Lords and they still could not get through. I am interested in how Lily got out, but I don’t think either of you understand it,” Beron said, almost bored. Neither deemed to prove him wrong. Casrien drew himself up to his feet, standing beside Lyssa. His wings were whole. Brutal, dangerous, and beautiful in spite of it. “I’m tempted to give you both to Montesere. The King has a son as well … But, I’ve learned my lesson, and that’s already well in hand, as far as I’m concerned. You’re far too dangerous to be kept together, what with Casrien’s abilities.”

Derren and Cervan began to step down toward the well. Lyssa gripped Casrien tighter as he bared his teeth at them. She had no interest in being separated, but she wished he would hide his damn wings. Derren winked at her. Casrien pulled her closer, as if he could forge them into one body. Lyssa stared at him for a moment. It didn’t matter if they fought. They would just put ash bolts through his wings and drag her from him.

Lyssa gripped his half-ruined tunic and kissed him. She committed the feel of his lips to memory as one of the Autumnlings gripped her arms and pulled her backward. She held his eyes as the other slid between them, shackling Casrien’s hands together with a strange blue stone. Casrien’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slammed to his knees. Lyssa tried to pull forward to help him but was unable to.

“Eris!” One of the females warned, the same one from before. He whirled to look at her as his mother pulled her back.

Derren winnowed from Casrien to Eris, clamping two bracelets of the same stone around his brother’s wrists. Eris fell as well, breathing as though the air had been sucked from the room.

“It is a pity that I cannot trust you, Eris. Cervan, Derren, you know what must be done.”

The fourth son stood silently with the females, his face ashen but otherwise undisturbed. Cervan shoved Lyssa toward Derren and grabbed Casrien by the chains between his bounds hands and began to drag him out of the throne room. Casrien struggled weakly, but he was only half-conscious. Lyssa surged forward, readying herself to shift-

“If I see an animal, the boy dies,” Beron said, a sharp command that sent terror jolting through her.

A High Fae came into the throne room. He did not balk at the sight of Cervan dragging Casrien, though Cervan paused. Derren pushed Eris over before he came to stand beside Lyssa, gripping her arm tightly. Lyssa could not help but shudder at his touch.

“My lord, they’ve just announced it. Rhysand’s son has been betrothed to Tamlin’s daughter since the Summer Solstice. They meant to announce it at the Masquerade celebrating the end of the War.”

A pin could’ve dropped and been mistake for thunder. Lyssa’s mind raced. It was a lie, but it would save her. A priestess couldn’t give her to Derren forever. She nearly sang, but Casrien had barely stirred in nearly a minute. She tried to pull away from Derren. Fire raced over her arm, not burning, but giving her clear enough warning. She stilled; the flames disappeared.

“Let’s see if the boy still wants her after Derren is done with her.”

Derren pulled her forward, and she saw his smile in the grim set of Eris’s mouth. “No, no, you can’t, you  _can’t_. You can’t do this!”

Lyssa pulled free for a moment. Derren gripped her shoulder and spun her around to smack her. Lyssa couldn’t help the gasp of pain that left her.

_How dare he?_

Casrien’s growl shook her bones. She brought her palm up into Derren’s nose and tried to escape again. Fire circled her, penning her in. Lyssa cursed lowly.

“Derren,” Eris said quietly. “She’s been through enough.”

“That isn’t your choice to make.”

The next time he grabbed her, they winnowed.

—:—:—:—

“He hasn’t sent anyone to the hole,” Kallias said. Vivianne nodded, squeezing his hand gently. “Rhys and Tam are ignoring the fact that Lily seems to think their children are mated.”

“Do you blame them?” Vivianne asked. If she was mated to her father’s lifelong enemy, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. She was fairly certain she’d go half-mad.

Kallias shrugged. “I don’t think Casrien or Tam’s girl  _know_.”

“How old are they now?” Vivianne asked.

“Nineteen.”

“Lucky, for them to find their mate so soon,” Vivianne said. Kallias hummed, his cheeks bright. He hadn’t meant to answer her question so quickly. Vivianne rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, “Would now be a good time to start running?”

“Just a little farther,” Kallias answered.

They were walking down a ravine of curved, clear ice. It made Kallias’s hair look blue. Above them paced an absolute monstrous bear, tracking them and deciding if the feel of Kallias’s power would make for a good meal. Beron would wax on and on about the bears had been more irate, wandering south into the Autumn Court sporadically for two decades. He had no idea what Kallias and Vivianne considered a fun game.

“Go,” Kallias whispered. Vivianne broke into a sprint, laughing as she heard Kallias’s even huffing behind her. He breathed so  _stupidly_.

A bear’s roar tore another breathless laugh from her.  _Now_ , it was a race; Fae against true beast. A shadow circled overhead. Rhys was monitoring them. Mor was bringing Feyre down to Adriata for dinner. She wondered if Rhys knew. Or Feyre, for that matter.

Kallias started to pass her as they exited the ravine. Vivianne pumped her arms and kept even with him. They crossed onto one of the perpetually frozen lakes. Kallias had marked the border with tall, white posts made of ice and snow. They’d been pulling the hole further open since the impromptu meeting in Adriata.

The trick was, if either one stepped a toe on Autumn land, Beron would know. Considering they hadn’t once failed in twenty years of Bear Running, Vivianne wasn’t worried.

Kallias tackled her to the ground, a dome of packed snow falling in place over them. The beast went barreling past. They weren’t incredibly intelligent.

Kallias kissed her before her laughter could draw it lumbering back. His hands wandered under her furs, “Kal, what will dearest Rhysand think?”

“He’ll think we’re only half as depraved as he is,” Kallias murmured. “He likely already thinks we need a hobby.”

“I don’t want a hobby,” Vivianne whispered, threading her fingers into his hair.

“I know, love,” Kallias answered softly.

Seventy years of trying had given them nothing but doubts.

Kallias was quick to pull her thoughts back to him, kissing skin as he exposed it. Vivianne felt Rhysand winnow out of their lands. “Maybe Feyre could help.”

“Yes, perhaps I can catch pregnancy from her and Sonya,” Vivianne laughed. Kallias kissed her again. “Ridiculous male.”

“Seems to work for Feyre.”

“I don’t want to hear her name again,” Vivianne murmured against him. Kallias chuckled and bit her lip.

“Anything you want, Viv.”

“I want you inside me so often, we don’t have any choice  _but_  to bring something into this world.”

“I want that, too.”

—:—:—:—

Lyssa was wearing a loosely tied robe when she was thrown into the cell with Casrien. He caught her as quickly as he could, the movement made awkward by his shackles. The one who brought her disappeared as soon as they’d come. Her hands fumbled over him until the found his face. She kissed him. The nausea the strange manacles brought quieted. It was all right; she was here and she did not bring much of Derren’s scent with her. She was with him.

“You’re brilliant,” Lyssa muttered.

“It held?”

“Yes.”

Derren could only touch her arms. If he tried to do anything else, he’d find himself daydreaming, telling Lyssa when he expected her to scream and how loudly.

He couldn’t properly gloat with Lyssa kissing him as much as she was. She was bare beneath the robe, but Casrien wouldn’t risk taking it off. Any of the Autumnlings could appear at any given time.

Lyssa bit his lip, “The shackles?”

“Muting my power. They don’t come off,” Casrien answered, wishing he could touch her the way he wanted to.

“I didn’t realize Lily was the only thing keeping you from attacking me.”

“ _I’m_  attacking  _you?_ ”

Lyssa murmured against his throat, “How am I supposed to get your shirt off?”

Casrien groaned as her tongue flicked at his pulse-point. Lyssa smiled against his skin. “Just tear it off.”

Casrien marveled at the strength in her arms as she did. He was holding her back. She probably would’ve killed the entire court and been done with it if not for Beron threatening him.

Lyssa brought his hands to her waist as she pushed him against the wall. “Our parents are surprisingly understanding, Cas.”

The messenger.

“I thought that was a dream,” Casrien ran his hands up her sides, brushing at the underside of her breasts with his thumbs. He genuinely wished he’d gotten the twin bracelets Eris had.

“It’s a lie,” Lyssa said into his ear, biting the lobe of it gently. Casrien would’ve let her do anything she wanted to him, fake betrothal or not. “At least they’re working together.”

“Together,” Casrien breathed, rolling his hips into hers as he gently twisted one of her nipples between his fingers. “I like the sound of that.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” Lyssa’s smile was imprinted in his skin. Casrien groaned as she palmed the bulge in his trousers.

“Absolutely none,” Casrien gasped out. Lyssa kissed him, pressing herself ever closer.

“After all those scary stories of the Night Court seducing and corrupting me.”

Casrien gripped her wrists, chains rattling as he did. He twisted them so her back was to the stone. Her robe fell open. Casrien took the shape of her in with indulgent stares. She smirked under his gaze. He kissed her, pinning her arms above her head. “Give me a chance, will you?”

—:—:—:—

Eris touched his wife’s bruised cheek gently. She still winced, “Derren?” She nodded. Eris growled, pulling her into his chest. “He’s not supposed to touch you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care if you wandered past him in the halls; it isn’t your fault. You don’t have to apologize to me. Not for anything,” Eris said. “You never have to apologize to me, Sera.”

“The girl,” she whispered. “I went to check on her. He didn’t … but he  _thinks_  he did.”

“Casrien,” Eris muttered. He touched Sera’s cheek and kissed her forehead. “Pack your things.”

“He’ll kill us,” Sera whispered. “And your mother-“

“I have to keep you safe. I  _told him_  that if he let Derren touch you, we would leave. I promised you that. So we’re leaving.”

“Where will we go?” Sera demanded, pushing him just slightly. “Eris, you have to  _think about this_ -“

“Sera,” Eris kissed her forehead again, then her nose. Cauldron, if his brothers could see him like this … he shuddered to think of it. “I have something they need. Beron is my father. I can go through the barrier, and I can take you with me. We’ll go to Rhysand. He won’t hurt us.”

“Azriel might.”

“And … I would deserve it. But they won’t hurt  _you_ ,” Eris touched her jaw, tilting her face toward his. “And that makes it a thousand times safer than here.”

“And to think, I was told you’d be like your father,” Sera said quietly. Eris kissed her as gently as he’d ever kissed anyone, male or female. “I have all I need.”

She winnowed them, for the Fae bane around Eris’s wrists kept him from doing it. She took them to the Summer Court. Varian’s men had them surrounded in a heartbeat. He ran a tight ship. Then five High Lords emerged from the palace, and two High Ladies with them.

“Where is my son?” Rhysand asked first. Eris glanced at Tamlin before answering.

“Shackled in Fae bane a half mile beneath the Forest House,” he said. Feyre snarled and he held up his own hands. “I am recognizably on your side.”

“And Derren?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

—:—:—:—

He confirmed that Keir had been feeding Beron information. Cassian struggled to stay in his seat and not leave Adriata to smash his face in. Nesta gripped his hand tightly and did not let go. Israen and Aelia were acting like respectable adults for once. Lucien was present, in mind as well as body, nodding along and contributing when it was called for. It almost felt normal.

But Tamlin’s leg was bouncing hard and fast enough to shake the entire city, and Feyre and Rhys looked like walking death.

Besides, there were far too many powerful Fae present for it to be normal. Cassian, Azriel, Nesta, Rhys, Feyre, Amren, Helion, Tarquin, Varian, Cresseida, Aelia, Israen, Lucien, Eris, his wife, Kallias, Vivianne, and Tamlin were all in one room, seated around one table. Cassian suspected that had it not been Eris and his wife, half the people would be gone. But no one trusted anyone else with them around.

“He wouldn’t tell me when the ship was arriving from Montesere,” Eris said. Cassian had never met his wife before. They had not been married incredibly long. The way they looked at each other was irritating. How was he supposed to turn Eris into dust when he and his wife reminded Cassian of Rhys and Feyre?

_You could always admit he’s not the monster you thought_ , Nesta suggested. He supposed the others had felt the same way about Rhys all those years ago. Nesta set her hand on his thigh. Kallias and Vivianne look distracted.

If the scent was any indication, they were.

_Helion is staring at Lucien_ , Cassian pointed out.

_I don’t think Lucien has looked his way since this whole thing started,_ Nesta mused. Cassian was fairly sure she was right.

_At least Tarquin isn’t watching Israen with burning rage. He seems moderately amused._

“If you two are quite finished, I asked you a question, Cassian,” Rhys said sharply.

“I can have my division mobile in six hours,” said Israen. Aelia’s eyes flew to him faster than ever. “And the others will want to beat that time.”

Rhys nodded, though he prodded Cassian’s mind sharply enough that he would at least make a moderate effort to pay attention.

“ _He_  has his own division?” Tamlin said drily, raising his eyebrows. “His voice still cracks.”

“Israen can actually hold his own in a fight to protect what is his,” Aelia said coolly. Cassian didn’t know what she’d been told, but it was enough to make Tamlin turn cherry red. “Can you say the same?”

Nesta let out a rasping laugh that had Cassian carrying her out of the room at Feyre’s request. He wandered the halls with her over his shoulder as she continued to laugh loudly. Tamlin’s face had been delightful, but Cassian was more used to containing his amusement around the High Lord than Nesta was. “I like when she defends him.”

Cassian finally set her down, quickly trapping her between him and the wall. “They’re going to be as bad as we are.” He kissed her, his hands pulling at her skirts. Satisfaction curled around the bond. Cassian groaned, “You planned that. You knew Feyre would kick you out.”

“What could my motivations have possibly been?” Nesta asked. She kissed up his neck to his jaw, digging her hands into his hair. “It isn’t like I’ve hardly seen you all week.”

_Don’t let her win. We need you back, Cass,_  Feyre ordered. Cassian groaned.

“Later, sweetheart,” Cassian promised. “We have to get Cas back.”

“Montesere ship arrives, we grab him. Done,” Nesta said, tugging on the bond between them. Her fingers drifted to his wings. He grabbed her wrists, holding them between them.

“ _Later,_ ” Cassian insisted. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she sighed, pulling out of his grasp and walking away without hesitation.

Cassian hated when she did that. He started back toward the meeting, trying to get himself under control. When Feyre checked in again, he warned,  _Your sister is going to go touch herself. I hope you’re happy._

_Cassian_.

He pushed open the doors, well aware that his hair was not what it had been when he’d left.

“Did the Hellcat attack you?” Helion asked.

“She certainly tried,” Cassian shrugged, taking his place again. Israen flinched, drawing a laugh from Aelia. Cassian winked at his son, just to see if he would pale or turn red.

It was the latter, “I’m moving out.”

“Can you focus for three seconds?” Tamlin snapped.

“Lyssa isn’t in any danger,” Eris said again. Cassian was counting—it was the seventh time he’d said it. There was enough of an edge in his voice that his wife took his hand and murmured something to him. Feyre had healed the bruise over her cheek. Another reason to tear off Derren’s head. “Casrien all but neutered Derren. He can’t hurt her; she’ll be just fine.”

“Why is Casrien so attached?” Helion mused purposefully. They’d been dancing around the subject for an hour and change.

“Lily … We think she can sense mating bonds,” Lucien said tightly, looking at Rhys instead of Helion. Cassian did not miss the look the Aelia and Israen shared.

“You should’ve seen them when Beron separated them,” said Eris’s wife. Cassian winced—as did half of those in attendance. “Eris’s mother scented it before they escaped, but she has not told Beron. We don’t think he knows.” There was silence. “Casrien does, though.”


	9. Mated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beron and his Monteseran allies get desperate.

“What?!” Tamlin snarled, standing. Sera flinched. Eris growled, shooting to his feet as well. Azriel rose next. Night’s High Lady grabbed his arm to hold him back.

“Don’t you threaten her,” Eris said lowly. Sera reached for his hand. She did not shy away from the heat under his skin.

“Eris, I’m all right,” she said gently.

“Tamlin, I recommend you  _sit down_ ,” hissed Cresseida. Her brother had one hand on his sword, though Amren snarled a warning at him.

Eris didn’t look away from the High Lord, and the High Lord didn’t look away from her. Sera refused to hide behind Eris, not if it meant he could get hurt. “Eris, please.”

“How do you know?” the High Lord of Night asked. Sera glanced away from Eris for a moment. Tamlin still looked poised to tear apart the world, but Azriel slowly sank back into his chair.

Sera’s voice refused to steady. “Beron made Eris’s mother take him to the cells.” Eris’s youngest brother—half-brother—let out a pained breath, his head bowing. Rhysand touched his shoulder. “She had me come with her. I had …” Sera took a deep breath. Eris squeezed her hand gently. “She thought—knew—that Beron … That doesn’t matter. Cervan left us with him. And she tried to tell him. To warn him not to mess with the Fae bane cuffs, because it was stifling their bond. Beron won’t be able to sense it as long as they remain.”

“But?” Helion promoted gently.

“He has your smile,” Sera said, meeting the High Lady of Night’s eyes. She quickly looked down at her hand in Eris’s. “And he didn’t even let Eris’s mother finish. He just said ‘I know’ and sat down in the middle of the cell to wait for Derren to bring her.”

“They’re still being held together then?” The youngest of the Illyrians said. Sera had heard his name but she couldn’t quite recall it on demand.

“Last we knew,” Eris answered. Sera wished he and the High Lord would sit. It felt like they were pulling the room off balance, even if there were more tenuous bonds than theirs. She squeezed Eris’s hand lightly.

“Did Casrien have time to access Derren’s mind?” Rhysand asked. Sera shuddered at the thought. She’d been given brief training on  _daemati_ in her youth, but the first month of her marriage had been nothing but bedding Eris and learning how to keep them out completely.

Sera looked to Eris for the answer. She had no experience with attacking or accessing others’ minds. And even the thought of her training was bringing inappropriate color to her cheeks. Eris just shrugged, though she thought his lips twitched to see her flush, “I wouldn’t know. He was healing for so long …”

“What did you do?” asked Vivianne slowly. Sera watched a smile curl across the violet-eyed male’s face. He was very handsome, and she’d heard tell of his sexual perversions. Eris’s thumb stroked along the back of her hand softly. She looked up at him once more and found a dizzying open look on his face. They weren’t alone and yet he was wearing his every thought there. He must have trusted the others a great deal.

“Well, if you must know,” Rhysand said, as though he was a peddler of gossip. Sera returned her attention to him, gooseflesh rising over her arms. His High Lady was watching Tamlin, a slight frown on her face. Sera had heard the stories. She wasn’t sure how they applied to her current situation. “Derren is going to prove more useful than ever.”

—:—:—:—

Lyssa was straddling his lap. He was sitting on the stone floor with his back to the wall, his hands on her hips. He still had the presence of mind that she wore her open robe. He had lost his boots but not his trousers.

Casrien was going mad from it. He needed to tell her quite a few things, but she was adamant in her distraction. He couldn’t bring himself to truly mind. She was captivating.

“They’ll be coming any moment,” Casrien groaned as she canted her hips against his. She bit her lip to hide her grin, but Casrien surged forward to kiss her. He would never tire of her tongue, of her mouth moving against his. It was like a dance only they knew, and her soft gasps a symphony.

“They aren’t here yet,” Lyssa murmured, her hands pulling at his hair. Her lips were on his again. He was starting to forget why his hands were shackled. It seemed to  serve only to frustrate him. She tugged his hand between her legs.

“Well, then, he  _is_ like his father; he’ll fuck anything that breathes.”

Casrien had barely opened his eyes when Lyssa was thrown off him. She skipped across the ground like a flat stone on a lake. She crashed into the bars, stopping on her side, her back to Beron and her robe, thankfully, falling to cover her where she needed covering. Casrien’s mind quieted everything into little more than a dull roar. “Lyssa!”

But he couldn’t move.

Beron was standing opposite him on the other side of the bars. He was flanked by four male fae, each with dark hair and slightly uplifted eyes. They wore intricate maroon armor that was less functional than aesthetically pleasing, interlocking pieces that weren’t close enough to be as secure as the fish scales of the Summer Court. Wicked, curved blades hung by their sides, and the bulk of them spoke to their profession.

“No,” Casrien whispered, unable to move. Beron had him pinned with magic. “Lyssa?” She didn’t stir, though he could see that she was breathing out of the corner of his eye. But he could not turn to look at her fully. Something started to crack inside him. “Lyssa!”

“As you can see, he is  _quite_ capable in the area he is required for, and not opposed to bedding his enemies,” Beron drawled. The fae snickered at the bulge in his trousers which he could not hide. Casrien spat a curse at him and strained against the magic keeping him down. The Fae were Monteseran. Casrien let out a frustrated shout. Beron just chuckled.

“ _Lyssa!_ ”

“He is much more manageable with the Fae bane. I recommend you keep it,” Beron said.

“We do not need a showcase of his abilities now,” said the one to Beron’s left. He smirked at Casrien. “We believe your testimony about his manipulation of your son.”

“No,” Casrien seethed. “Shut your lying mouth-“

“See if she knows about it,” the Monteseran gestured to Lyssa. Casrien couldn’t do anything. His powers were gone. His family was far away. There were no more tricks or games. He was out of options. He was out of time.

“Impressive shields,” murmured another Monteseran. Casrien tried to pull free vainly.

Lyssa’s mental shields were strange and beautiful, a twisting forest that sent one in circles and to dead ends, hills that rolled endlessly on, a singing willow that dragged one to sleep. Through it all, a well hidden path that allowed one to skirt the dangers and find her true mind.

“Get out of her head,” Casrien ordered lowly. Lyssa jerked as she stirred, starting to sit up. Her eyes found him, and they were her own. But she bowed her head, cradling it in her hands. A low moan rasped out of her. “Leave her alone!”

She flinched, her face falling into terror for a moment before a triumphant smile split her face. He did not know who had won. Casrien almost didn’t notice Beron enter the cage with them. Lyssa picked herself up, tying her robe shut with shaking movements. Casrien followed her every step as she approached Beron. The High Lord grinned.

She punched him.

He hit her back.

Casrien stopped seeing and hearing it all. He was watching her waver on her feet as her mind was again attacked. Beron smacked her, and then Casrien was trying to slam Beron into the bars, his head specifically. Flame erupted across his vision, sending him soaring backward into the stone. He crashed to the ground, groaning as his bruises only compounded on one another.

“Casrien!” Lyssa reached for him. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell to the ground. Casrien crawled to her. He couldn’t move his feet. He could hardly feel them. What had Beron done?

“Lyssa?” He gripped her arm, feeling her pulse throb at her wrist.

“She threw me out. Most impressive.”

“Lyssa,” Casrien whispered, smoothing her hair out of the way. He kissed her forehead, her lips. She didn’t wake. “No, no, Lyssa. Lyssa, please.”

She murmured lowly. Casrien put his mouth to her ear. “You just have to tell Derren that the time has come for the sun to rise. He’ll take you to Summer. Lyssa?”

“Sunrise,” she said. Casrien smiled, touching his forehead to hers, gripping her hand tightly. “Casrien?”

“Get out. Don’t come after me.”

“I think she ought to see you off, don’t you?” Beron crouched, grabbing Casrien by the scruff of his neck. Casrien tried to pull out of his pinching grasp. Beron took Lyssa by the arm.

Casrien didn’t know how the Monteserans got out. There were hundreds of them waiting. It took him a moment to realize his vision had doubled. But there were still hundreds.

Casrien thrashed at Beron’s hold as a team of Monteserans came forward. They were at some kind of dock. Three massive ships sat in the harbor. Two were being unloaded of precious stones. The last held more soldiers than Casrien could fight through on his own. He tried anyway, harming wherever he could, however he could. Mostly, he kicked shins and smacked people with his shackles. Lyssa was snarling and screaming, but she stayed Fae. Cervan grabbed her arm, and they disappeared. Casrien roared. Monteseran soldiers stepped aside and let Casrien be dragged aboard the nearest ship, cursing and spitting all the while.

He was nearly dropped into the sea. Casrien tried to crawl to freedom, scrambling to get up. He was smacked in the head with something that felt like wood. He wasn’t exactly sure until the fourth blow. He tried to clear his vision of stars as he was hauled up into the ship.

“ _Casrien!”_ Her voice came from too far away.

“Thank you, Lord Beron.” said the Monteseran. To another, he said, “He goes to the  _Thunderwing!_ ” More hands grabbed Casrien. A sack was shoved over his head, which was just offensive. He’d already seen the ships and the harbor. “What of the other, Beron?”

Casrien snarled. They couldn’t take Israen. He wouldn’t let them.

“Do your part to draw their forces. They won’t let her join the assault. She isn’t trained for it.”

_She?_

—:—:—:—

“Devlon refused to give any more,” Cassian said, holding out the stones to his son. Israen gaped at them. “He thinks you might need something that doesn’t exist.”

“ _Three?!_ ” Israen cried. “I haven’t worn three since I was  _seventeen!_ ”

“I’m well aware,” Cassian said lightly. He was going to strangle Devlon. Israen just stared at the red stones.

“Fuck!” Israen turned on his heel, pacing back into Aelia’s room. Cassian stood in the door. They were gathering their troops on the Winter Court border at the moment. He really needed his son to help lead some of those troops, but letting him go without Siphons was probably worse than making him stay. Nesta thought separating him from Aelia was going to be bad. But Israen would do his duty.

So long as the Siphons held.

Aelia’s voice chimed lowly, but Cassian missed what she said. Israen grumbled back, “I can’t fucking believe this, fucking three of them?!”

“Israen,” Cassian said. “I’m not going to do jack shit with them, so would you please-“

Israen gave a long, suffering groan. Cassian looked around the door with enough time to see him flop onto the unmade bed. He’d certainly inherited Rhys’s flair for dramatics. Nesta snorted down the bond.

_He gets it from you, you blind bat._

Aelia walked around him, the sheets draped artfully around herself. She came to the door, her cheeks bright. She held out one hand. Cassian deposited the Siphons into it. “You’d fit in with Helion’s lot wearing that.”

Aelia grinned sheepishly, retreating. Cassian turned away as she tripped on the sheet. Israen cursed, the door slamming shut so quickly it nearly cracked.

Cassian let out a low chuckle, rapping on the door, “Is she all right?”

Israen cursed again, louder. Cassian strained to hear. “What did you do? What did you do, what did you do,  _whatdidyoudo_?”

“Israen?” Cassian called, pressing a hand to the door. He wondered if he’d be banned from Adriata for actual eternity if he entered the room and Aelia wasn’t decent. He shuddered at the thought. “Israen, what’s going on?”

The door swung open. Israen was wearing three giant opalescent stones, one on the back of either hand with the last over his heart. Aelia was still wrapped in the sheet. They were gaping at one another.

“Are those the Siphons?!” Cassian demanded. “Devlon’s going to kill you!”

“Da,” Israen said shakily, finally looking at him. He held up a hand.

A wall of pearl sprang up at Israen’s fingertips, translucent and glimmering. Cassian’s jaw dropped. He glanced at Aelia, then his son. “She- You changed the Siphons?”

“It feels like …” Israen’s smile spread quickly as his wall dropped. He whispered, “Remember when I stole all your Siphons, before I could fill one? It feels like that. Like … There’s just space, endless space.”

“That’s good, right?” Aelia whispered.

“Room to grow,” Cassian shrugged. He was only given Siphons because the camp lords feared him. He couldn’t fill an eighth Siphon, so he wasn’t given one. He’d never felt like his power grew. It was either full, draining, empty, or refilling. Israen was something new. Fuck if Cassian knew how to do things right.

Nesta was going to be over the moon. He called down the bond to her, sending an image of the way Israen and Aelia were looking at each other. She tugged back,  _Leave them alone._

_I’m only here to deliver the Siphons._ Cassian gestured to his son. He kissed him on his brow, then Aelia. He left after, smirking as he shut the door.  _I have no interest in seeing or hearing what happens next._

_You filthy-minded bat._

_Is that not what you meant?_ Cassian chuckled to himself, saluting Cresseida as he passed. She gave him an odd, almost offended look and kept going. Cassian cleared his throat, “I wouldn’t interrupt them.”

“Them?” Cresseida’s head tilted slightly. Cassian frowned.

“Israen’s with her.”

“ _Oh_ ,” said Cresseida, touching her chest lightly. “Forgive me. It’s been a strange day.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed, trying to break through whatever glamour Cresseida was casting over herself. Something was wrong with her. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be just fine,” she said with a small nod. Cassian answered it in kind, turning away. He cast a glance over his shoulder as he left, trying to keep the paranoid feeling from overtaking him.

_Last time you felt like this, the Goldaba nearly killed you,_ Nesta said, her voice soft and harsh all at once. Cassian acknowledged her words with a mental grunt.  _Monteseran magic?_

_Unless they have_ daemati _, I’m not incredibly sure how they would manage that. It’d have to be close by, and Cresseida has enough skill to keep one out,_ Cassian said. Nesta indicated she was going to warn Tarquin and Rhysand. Cassian rolled his eyes. He didn’t know why she insisted on antagonizing her brother-in-law, but it’d been nearly a century of Rhys telling her not to use his full name and she showed no sign of giving it up.

_I can hear you calling me unnecessarily stubborn._

_I love your stubbornness. It makes things more interesting._

_What things?_

_I am not going into battle with a raging hard on, Nesta. Stop._

_If you get here soon enough, I can take care of it first._

Cassian leapt from the first balcony he found into the skies.

—:—:—:—

Lyssa bowed her head, cradling it against the screaming in her mind. They’d taken him from her. They’d shackled him and sold him and now they were in her mind again, keeping her from ripping out their throats.

Her mind was a maze. A labyrinth, but at the heart of it, there was nothing. There were walls of obsidian, each thicker and broader than the last. He was clawing at them, scratching them but only just. Only just.

Claws ripped out of her fingers. Her broken sob became a scream of rage as she shifted.

They should not have taken him from her.

She wanted Beron’s blood. She wanted Derren’s blood. She wanted Cervan’s blood.

And she would have it.

The Monteseran  _daemati_ cursed violently. Cervan had taken her and the blasted  _daemati_ up to the trees. The harbor spread out before her, five Monteseran ships laying anchor within. She could see Casrien struggling as he was brought up onto the center one.

She was a jungle cat, sleek and fierce and faster than the wind. Her sharp teeth tore into Cervan’s arm as he struggled to contain her. His shout was loud and wild. She lunged for the  _daemati_ next. His blood was sweet, but it was not what she needed. Cervan winnowed before she could return for his throat. She roared into the forest.

She leapt from the broad branch into the air, her form shifting as she went, becoming small and light and all-seeing. She dove, her falcon’s form quickest of all the birds she’d ever known. They had a sack over Casrien’s head, and his movements were uncoordinated. There was blood on his hands as she dropped, the wind tugging at her feathers. She gave a piercing cry.

A Monteseran grabbed Casrien, and they winnowed.

Lyssa scanned the ships for him. There was no flurry of movement, no sign that he was close. They couldn’t have winnowed him all the way to the continent. Not even Tarquin could’ve. Lyssa banked on the sea breeze, taking her wolf form as she alighted in front of Beron.

He wouldn’t know or care where Casrien was. Lyssa tore at him, growling. He’d done this, he was  _enjoying_ this. Fire sparked in front of her. Lyssa shifted, fur and skin becoming hardened scales, a clear lid sliding down over her eyes to protect them. The fire did not harm her, dancing around her skin without burning it. She snapped poison filled teeth, struck with claws and webbed arms, a spiked tail whipping around. She was taller than the ships as she took flight, screeching in agony as her senses still failed to find Casrien.

In the face of a brilliantly green wyvern, Beron shouted for the Monteserans to run as he winnowed. Lyssa shot higher into the sky, watching the world fall away. She could see everything and nothing. Not enough and too much. She could hardly think, her form telling her to hunt and hunt  _now._

She would find Casrien. She would kill Beron.

Find Casrien. Kill Beron.

Find Casrien.

Kill Beron.

Her cry tore over the water as she began her hunt.

—:—:—:—

“You are insane!”

Vivianne only laughed, steadying herself on top of the massive beast tearing into Autumn Court lands. With legions of Illyrians, Summer Warriors, Sun Guards, Spring Sentries and her own Winter Soldiers at her back, it was hard not to feel invincible.

Still, she was standing in the saddle of the great bear instead of sitting because Kallias, in his eternal wisdom, had suggested she stay in Adriata with Sonya and Aelia. But she was his High Lady, and if she wanted to do something incredibly stupid, that was her prerogative.

Nesta and Mor flanked her, her sister riding directly behind. Vivianne would’ve preferred to ride with Feyre as opposed to Nesta, but she’d have to do.

The Monteserans winnowed into a trap. They were already being flanked, shoved back into a mountain passage as Illyrians rained down death from above. Vivianne gave a fierce shout as her group plowed into the lines, jumping lithely from her mount. Mor and Dramina fought toward her, Nesta weaving through the legions to her mate.

“Come on!” Lucien’s shout pulled her attention. He was a sight to behold, glowing and burning like fire itself, a pillar of light ripping through the ranks carelessly. Rhys dropped from the sky to protect his back. Vivianne shook her head.

“Israen!” Cassian bellowed. Vivianne’s head whipped toward him. His son was taking flight, away from the battle, opalescent Siphons gleaming.

“Cass, I have it!” Vivianne shouted. As Israen soared over the mountains, Tamlin’s beast followed. Vivianne started to run, letting Mor and Nesta carve a path for her. She winnowed through the trees, tracking Tamlin as he tracked Israen through the sky.

They were already at the front steps when Vivianne arrived. Tamlin shifted into his Fae form. Vivianne looked up at the massive structure. It lay in the trees and beneath the earth, and it seemed to disappear if you looked away for too long. A shudder ran down her spine. It was too quiet.

The doors opened before they could decide to even climb the steps. Vivianne gasped at the form that appeared there. The girl was wearing a tattered and singed robe, a gash in her thigh. Her eyes seemed to glow as she took them in. She stumbled as she started down the steps, racing the thing that dropped from her grip. Tamlin rushed up the steps to her, cradling her against his chest as the object rolled to a stop at Israen’s feet.

Lucien’s brother. Half-brother. Cervan. His head, and his head alone.

Vivianne’s stomach curdled in spite of the knowledge that she’d seen far worse.

“They took him,” the girl was almost incoherent, sobbing and repeating the words over and over. “Father, they took him, they took him.”

“Where?” Israen demanded. Vivianne watched the girl carefully as Tamlin picked her up andcarried her back down the steps.

“Winnowed into the sea,” Lyssa murmured. “Beron’s going to take a female for Montesere’s prince.”

“Why wouldn’t he use you?” Vivianne asked carefully. Lyssa shook her head. Israen started up the steps, but Vivianne quickly grabbed his arm to hold him back, digging in her heels. “Where is Lady Autumn?”

“Aelia,” Israen said quietly. Lyssa looked at him, and the entire world seemed to pause in the wake of that stare. His Siphons gleamed.

“We have to stop them.”

“You didn’t think I’d given up so easily, did you?” Vivianne’s head whipped toward Beron.

Beron had his wife, son, and a Monteseran commander at his side. Vivianne could feel more foreigner’s winnowing in around them. They’d sent the inexperienced to battle without their superiors. Vivianne sent an accidental spike of panic down her mating bond as she dragged Israen away. He settled into a fighting stance with his back against hers. His wings were an odd feeling.

Tamlin retreated back toward them, Lyssa trying to push out of his arms. Tamlin let her down carefully. She dropped to her knees and vomited.

Amidst all the blood and bile was a finger.

“Where is my nephew, you utter sack of shit?” Vivianne snarled at the High Lord. Tamlin knelt by his daughter, tucking her against his side as he murmured comforts to her. She was still crying.

“They took him. He’s gone.”

Fire flared toward them. Vivianne met in with a crushing wave of ice and cold, whipping deadly spikes around them, moving her hands through the air to focus her energy. Soon, there was a hurricane of ice circling them, keeping Beron’s fire at bay.

“Fire always melts ice, young one.”

“Fucking bet,” Vivianne growled back.

—:—:—:—

“Aelia, go!” Cresseida ordered, pointing down the hall. She raised her hands and and a wall of vines sprung forth from the marble, curling over one another. Her cousin didn’t listen, stepping forward to touch the vines, “What are you doing,  _get out of here!_ ”

She’d hardly touched Aelia’s arm when a wave of cold crept down her spine. The vines popped as they turned to some silvery metal that looked sturdy. Platinum perhaps. Cresseida didn’t care. She grabbed Aelia’s arm and started hauling her down the hallway. “You go to the vaults, you  _stay there_ until your father returns.”

“That’s awfully boring, isn’t it?” Cresseida raised her hands. Vines tore around the Monteseran bastard, immobilizing him. He winked at Cresseida, and she snarled. How had he gotten behind them? Fae couldn’t winnow someplace they’d never been—they tended to end up in walls or half in the floor. There had been no reported infiltrations back towards the end of the hall they were in.

“ _Now,_ Aelia,” Cresseida ordered.

“I want to try something,” Aelia whispered, stepping forward. “I can change vines, and those are alive.” The Monteseran squirmed. Cresseida flinched. Aelia had picked up a bit of Night Court terrorizing, it seemed. “Do you think I can change you, you murderous bastard?”

“I’m not here to kill anyone,” the Monteseran shook his head. “My name is Kegin. I’m here to … see the people.”

“Is Lucien’s eye gold, or bronze?” Aelia mused, glancing back at Cresseida. She shrugged. Aelia turned to the Monteseran. “Maybe, I’ll give you one of each.”

“Fucking the Illyrian gave you a spine,” the Monteseran grinned. Then he was gone. He shouldn’t have been able to winnow if Cresseida had him held down. They needed to get out of there. Something was very wrong with that male.

“What the fuck?” Aelia snapped, whirling to scan the empty hallway. Cresseida grabbed her wrist and shoved aside a painting, pulling her into the secret passageway. The painting swung shut with a soft  _click._ “You know about-“

Cresseida tugged them back into a run, though Aelia probably could’ve outpaced her. “Honey, I’ve been sneaking out of this palace a hell of a lot longer than you have,” Cresseida answered, skidding to a stop and pressing through a fake panel. “The vaults aren’t far. Come on.”

“Is Mother already-“

“Yes, I got her first,” Cresseida said. Sonya had been much easier to convince. Aelia nodded, pushing past her as they headed down a set of spiraling stairs.

“I’m going back-“

“You aren’t a fighter!” Aelia caught her wrist as Cresseida let go. They came to a stop on the last few steps. Cresseida shook her head.

“I don’t care. I’d rather they take me than you,” said Cresseida blithely. “I don’t care what they do to me. But I’ll be damned before I let them touch you.”

“We do this together,” Aelia growled.

“I’m not your Illyrian,” Cresseida dropped down a step so she was eye-level with Aelia (even if her cousin was a step below that). “I’m not your friend. I’m your family, Aelia.” Cresseida dropped her voice as footsteps began to echo through the passages above them. “And that means you get to the vaults and stay there, and you let me protect you.”

“I can help,” Aelia insisted.

“You have a week of training, if that. I know they think that every second counts, but you’re more likely to get hurt,” Cresseida twisted out of Aelia’s grip and cradled her face in her hands. She kissed her brown. “Now, go.”

“Cress,” Aelia whispered. “I want to stay with you.”

“Sorry, Princess,” Cresseida answered, stepping away. “I outrank you. Get the hell out of here.”

“I love you,” Aelia said quietly.

“I love you, too,” Cresseida smiled and ran back up the stairs. She was wiping at her eyes by the time she reached the top. They hadn’t found the hallway to the stairs yet. Cresseida waited until it was quiet before slipping out of the fake panel. She sprinted through the passage way, dodging around Monteseran’s as they tried to catch her. She left them behind, calling a twisting vine to her aid, riding it to the end of the passage. She sprung out from behind the bust of Nostrus and kept running, up a grand staircase and into the guest wing. She could hear them giving chase. She blocked the passage enough that they would have to work to get out, but not so much that they would turn to go other ways. Cresseida swung to a stop as an Illyrian broke out of one of the rooms.

“Israen?! What are you doing here?!” Cresseida demanded shrilly. Cassian was going to kill him if he’d abandoned the battle, a she doubted her cousin could stop him.

“Where is she?!” he shouted. Cresseida wondered what he’d been told.

“The vaults,” she said, pointing.

She stared after him, shaking her head. She hadn’t realized he’d already replaced all six of his Siphons.

—:—:—:—

Kallias winnowed to his mate. Her recklessness was quickly becoming his dread. He loved her wild unpredictability, just as he loved every fiber of her heart and soul. If she lost a single hair on her head or an ounce of that untamable spirit, Kallias would never forgive himself.

A wall of ice ten feet thick and thirty feet high rose around them. Kallias clicked shields into place around Vivianne and Israen. The Illyrian was seething, half-wild with panic.

“They’re attacking Adriata,” Kallias said lowly. Israen’s eyes went truly mad. Kallias gripped his elbow, “Israen, look at me. Look at me!” Kallias waited. Israen looked. “Going back to her is instinct. But think,  _think_ what they will do if they find they can use you against one another. They put a knife to you and she does unspeakable things for them. Staying here is your best bet. Let’s get little Cas.”

“But Aelia,” Israen’s voice cracked. “She’s- I have to protect her.”

“This is protecting her,” Kallias said calmly. Israen’s brows furrowed. “This  _is_ protecting her, Israen. I promise, this is better than the alternative.”

“Okay,” Israen closed his eyes. Kallias kept his grip as Israen took several deep breaths. “This is for the best.”

“That’s right. Let’s focus on Beron,” Kallias released Israen carefully. He nodded, turning to face Beron through the wall.

_You’re a father and we haven’t even conceived yet,_ Vivianne purred down the bond. Kallias cut his eyes at her. It wasn’t exactly the time.

“Baby, you’ll be all right, I promise, I  _promise_ , we’ll get you home,” Tamlin murmured to Lyssa.

“He’s gone. I can’t feel him. I can’t feel him. They took him.”

“Lyssa, please,” Tamlin’s voice broke.

“I let them take him. I couldn’t stop them.”

“Lyssa, it wasn’t your fault,” Tamlin said. “You’ve done enough, let us take things from here.”

“Promise me you’ll find him, Father. Promise me,  _promise me._ ”

“I- I swear it, Lyssa. We’ll find him, I promise.”

Kallias met his mate’s eyes for a moment too long. Tamlin snarled at them. Kallias just kept a neutral face, turning to Israen. “If you fly up, can you shield yourself long enough to catch a glimpse of what’s happening?”

Israen’s eyes went vacant for a moment. He shook himself, “My uncle says the Monteserans have surrendered. Tarquin and Helion are returning to Summer and-“

Darkness covered the forest before he could finish.  _Rhysand was coming there._ Kallias banished the ice from around them. When the darkness cleared, Night’s High Lord and Lady were with them. Feyre knelt by Lyssa and spoke softly, “I’ll take her to the manor.” She winnowed away with the girl. Rhysand’s shoulders loosened minutely. Tamlin rose, his eyes glinting dangerously as Beron looked down at them. Rhysand’s wings were gone, his hands in his pockets, looking bored more than anything.

“Where is my son?” Rhysand asked, softly, for there was nothing that did not quiet at the dangerous edge in his voice and the power flickering out of him. It begged caution and spoke of glittering cold rage that Kallias knew all too well. He shifted toward Vivianne instinctively, though her attention was on Israen. Beron did not answer, and Rhysand drawled, “May I?”

“Go ahead,” Tamlin said. Kallias merely nodded, raising a wall of ice at their backs. He felt Rhysand’s power spear for Autumn’s High Lord, chills rushing down his back. Beron stiffened, and the Monteserans began to advance down the steps. Tamlin shifted into his animal form to meet them.

“Israen!” Vivianne called. Kallias followed Israen’s brief flight but could not stop him without hurting him. Israen moved through the Monteserans at Tamlin’s side. Blood gathered on the steps before the Forest House. Kallias stayed near Rhysand—though he trusted the High Lord to protect himself, he knew breaking into Beron’s mind would not be an easy task.

When Israen engaged Derren, the Autumnling gave an impressive defense. Fire raged against pearlescent Illyrian power, but Israen did not falter. Fighting up the steps was not to his advantage, but he took flight only briefly, summoning a spear and throwing it. Derren deflected it from his chest, but it landed in his knee instead. Beron’s fingers barely twitched at his son’s scream, but the Lady Autumn shouted as well. Vivianne sprinted up the steps, drawing her away from them.

“He’s still my son, he’s still  _mine!_ ” She thrashed in Vivianne’s grip. “You have to stop, please! Don’t kill him, don’t– don’t do it …”

Israen hesitated. He let his guard drop, his conflict visible as he looked to Lady Autumn. Kallias surged forward, tackling Israen as fire raced from Derren’s fingertips. Kallias encased him in ice, shifting off of his nephew quickly enough.

“Kal!”

Beron dissolved into red mist, reaching still to slit Kallias’s throat. His wife screamed again, but Vivianne had released her. She fell to her knees, clutching at her own hair. Rhys wandered up the steps, watching Derren as he tried to break out of the ice.

Israen cried out in pain, clutching at his chest, just above his heart. Rhysand moved closer, but never got to ask what was wrong. There was sheer horror in his eyes.

“Aelia,” Israen murmured, and he winnowed before anyone could warn him not to.

—:—:—:—

“Take me back!” Feyre winnowed away from the girl’s slashing claws. They were on the gravel road, feet from the manor. It hadn’t changed. The sickening smell of roses still clung heavily to the air. And that was Hart, running inside, no doubt to find his Lady. Feyre again dodged Lyssa’s movements. “Let me help!” The girl dropped to her knees and vomited blood and gore, sobbing. Feyre nudged her mind gently. She flinched, then touched the girl’s shoulder, pulling back her hair as she continued to vomit. She stroked her back lightly. “Please, it has to stop. It has to.”

“You’re home. You’re safe here,” Feyre said softly, holding the girl up as her strength failed her. “There is no one to hurt you here.” Her eyes lifted as Arrianne burst from the house, her dress and hair streaming behind her. She ran barefoot across the gravel, narrowly avoiding the puddle of sick and blood before Lyssa.

“Oh, baby,” Arrianne pulled her from Feyre carefully, cradling Lyssa against her chest. “You’re home. You’re home.”

“They took him from me. I can’t feel him anymore,” the girl sobbed. Pure terror ripped through Feyre, such that she nearly toppled over. The girl continued to babble and repeat herself, switching between anguish and anger, vomiting sporadically all the while.

“May I?” Feyre asked softly. Arrianne nodded. Feyre pressed her mind to Lyssa’s. Casrien had been bound in fae bane. The Monteseran  _daemati_ who had tried to restrain Lyssa had torn part of her reasoning from her, like a bridge ripped up to drift downstream. Feyre carefully rebuilt it, keeping the girl from panic while she did. She tried to keep from invading too much of her privacy.

When she was done, the girl quieted. It was a long while before she said, “Cas isn’t dead, those cuffs are muting it.”

“Muting what?” Arrianne asked. Lyssa flinched, wiping at her mouth. Hart passed her a water skin before she could ask for it. She thanked him and rinsed her mouth, spitting onto the stones.

“They were taking him to a ship. It was too far out to see, but it can’t have been more than halfway to the continent,” Lyssa said, then gurgled water for a moment.

“They’d have to be moored, otherwise they’d move and whoever was winnowing would end up in the wrong place,” Feyre nodded, carefully rising to her feet. Her center of balance was all off.

“They were going to take a female. Israen and I believe Aelia is the clear choice, if Beron’s children have failed to prove their worth,” Lyssa drank, then coughed out water and blood. She cursed vilely and glared at the skin. “Especially since I’ve killed Cervan.”

“You’ve what?!”

“If we get to Aelia fast enough, we can find some method of tracking them as they take her,” Feyre murmured.

_Beron is dead._ Rhys said down their bond. Feyre signaled that he should wait.

“I can hide on her,” said Lyssa, glancing at her mother. “I could become something small, something no one would notice.”

“You’ll have to be quick,” Arrianne said. “Or your father will try to stop you.”

“Are you sure?” Feyre asked, offering her hand. The girl grasped it immediately.

“Yes.”

—:—:—:—

“Unhand me, you useless rats!” The door to the wooden cell opened and shut abruptly, a small form stuffed inside hastily. The lock clicked back into place. Casrien was still trying not to vomit. He hated boats and their ceaseless rocking. He had no control of it, not like when he flew. The female pounded at the door. She gave up when there was no answer. “You’re the one I’m meant to fuck?”

“I’d rather not,” Casrien answered with a groan. Lying down was better than standing, but his wings were in an uncomfortable position. He missed Lyssa, the call and answer in his blood and heart and soul. It ached strangely, like something left unfinished at the last possible moment.

The female sniffed at the air. “You’re mated.” Casrien didn’t answer. She slid down to the floor. “I just want to go home.” Casrien closed his eyes. He’d been within reach of home. Still, home did not mean Lyssa yet. Not until he convinced his and her parents. “You’re quiet, for a privileged male.”

“I found out perhaps a day ago that I am mated to the daughter of the male who killed my grandparents and aunt. She doesn’t yet know. Forgive me if I’m not entirely enthusiastic at my presence here,” Casrien said without opening his eyes. He didn’t know if it made sense. He couldn’t think through his nausea.

“I was supposed to be with Lin by now,” said the female bitterly. “She was supposed to—gah, why am I talking to you?!” Casrien said nothing in answer. “I may well talk to myself. I would, if you weren’t there. Gods, I hate this. I don’t need an heir. Father’s not even dead yet! And Kegin is the one who’s supposed to rule! It’s not fair!”

Casrien wished she would be quiet.

It was not granted him.

—:—:—:—

“ _AELIA!_ ” Israen screamed. She was thrown over someone’s shoulder, her wrists and ankles bound, her mouth gagged. His aunt winnowed in beside him, but he paid her no heed, tearing after the bastard. His tattoo was burning into his flesh. He was failing her. He wasn’t going to let her slip away.

He winnowed over top of them, dropping onto the male. Aelia fell on a shield of his power as he twisted the male onto his back and straddled him, driving his fist through the male’s nose. The male flung him off, racing for Aelia. Casrien reached out a hand, his power slicing through Aelia’s bonds. She kicked the Monterseran away from her, scrambling to get up. Israen launched himself onto the male’s back, twisting him away.

“Aelia, get to my aunt,” Israen ground out.  He was elbowed in the side but did not give up his hold. Aelia stumbled away. She leaned against the wall, panting and dazed. Israen seethed, “What did you do to her?!”

“Something about fae bane powder.” Fine blue dust clouded his vision. His power flared—then died. The Monteseran delivered a savage blow to Israen’s head.

“Israen!” His aunt shouted. He coughed, letting go of the Monteseran. He had to get to Aelia. If he could get to her, they could winnow. One touch, and the bastard lost his prize.

“Aelia!” That was her father. He couldn’t fail, he had to save her. He moved clumsily toward her, reaching as he did. Her hand brushed his, and he clasped it desperately.

There was a hand on the back of his neck, “Looks like I get both after all.”

“ _No!_ ”


	10. Rescue

They were all gone but Lily.

Cassian didn’t understand it. Tarquin had been speaking, and then the words had stopped making sense. Beron had stashed away a personal cache of fae bane during the War of the Cauldron. He’d sold it to the Monteserans along with Israen, Casrien, and Aelia. That made sense. The rest, his son and Aelia both being captured by one Monteseran, that made no sense. Feyre tried. Tarquin’d had to hold her back, for fear of Rhys’s retaliation if something happened to her again. By the time he tried to help their children, the Monteseran had grabbed Israen and Aelia and was gone. Lyssa had been a literal fly on Aelia’s back. They’d planned it together.

It took Tamlin shouting to bring him out of the daze. “What you mean, Lyssa went with them?!”

“I mean,” Feyre snapped back. “That she wanted to go and I didn’t stop her from doing so.”

“Tam,” Arrianne was there. Cassian had barely registered her presence. Nesta had a death grip on his hand. She hadn’t let him go since the battlefield, when Rhys started urging that they return to Adriata. Their son was gone by the time they arrived. “I let her go.”

“We just got her back—Arri, did you not notice that she was completely emotionally fucked-“

“I didn’t realize that was something  _you_  could notice,” Nesta said coldly. Tamlin’s mouth shut fast enough that Cassian heard his teeth clack.

“Nesta,” Feyre scolded. “This is not the time.” Feyre turned to address Tamlin again. “A  _daemati_  harmed her ability to reason, I had to restore-“

“You rooted around in my daughter’s mind?!“

“I  _saved_  her mind,” Feyre said clearly. “I don’t even know if she’s sensed the bond, so you can go-“

Rhys winnowed in with Kallias and Vivianne. Derren was bound and gagged. Rhys pushed him over before wrapping his arms around Feyre’s middle and kissing her check, murmuring something to her softly. Feyre was still glaring stonily at Tamlin, but her shoulders loosened slightly.

“Should someone tell Eris he’s High Lord?” Nesta asked softly. Cassian shook his head.

“It’s not something you need to be told,” Rhys said tersely. He and Tamlin did not look at one another. Feyre reached a hand up to touch Rhys’s cheek.

“Well, excuse me if it’s never come up,” Nesta said under her breath. Cassian kissed her hair gently, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“So, what we do now?” Arrianne asked softly.

“We trust them,” Tarquin said. Cassian and Kallias nodded grimly.

“What?” Tamlin shook his head. 

“If anyone can get them out, it’s each other,” Kallias said calmly. “We’ve dealt with Autumn. They can handle themselves.”

“They’re on a boat halfway to Montesere,” Nesta snapped. “Israen can’t winnow that far.”

“Cas can hardly winnow at all,” Feyre said, her voice rising with every syllable.

“Lyssa can’t either,” Tamlin growled.

“Hey,” Kallias said sharply. “We have a half-Illyrian, half-Made warrior; the heir to the Summer Court; the  _daemati_ heir to the Night Court, who is also half-Made; and a shapeshifter who has already proven her thirst for blood. If they can’t help each other, I don’t think you’ve raised them correctly.”

Nesta laid her head on Cassian’s arm.  _So, are we meant to do nothing?_

_No._ Cassian looked to Rhys. His High Lord connected the minds of Cassian, Nesta, Feyre, Azriel, Lucien, Mor, and Amren. His face pinched with concentration.

_Azriel, find that ship. We’ll keep them occupied._

“Going after them may cause even more problems,” Tarquin said.

“ _If_  whoever goes is seen or sensed,” Kallias said.

“What, you think one of us would be caught?” Tamlin shook his head. “We could glamour-“

“A human could look through your glamours,” Cassian rolled his eyes.

“A human  _has_  looked through your glamours,” Nesta said. Cassian clamped down on his smile before it could break free.

“Nesta, you stole from the Cauldron, I’m not entire sure you count,” Helion said shortly. Cassian growled. “I’m just saying.”

_It won’t be long_ , Azriel reported.  _I have a trail._

—:—:—:—

Casrien woke when the little door to the wooden room opened. Light flickered over his eyes as more people entered the room. Two of them fell to the ground, but the third stood against the door as it shut.

“Kegin, what the hell is this?” Montesere’s princess whined. Casrien wanted to throttle her. She talked without stopping to breathe. He’d fallen asleep and had a nagging feeling that she still hadn’t ceased. “You got  _two?!_ ”

“Yes, well, with no preference and the ability to do so, I thought I may as well. It’ll make it easier to get out of here,” said the male. “Plus, I think this one may kill Father for us.”

He kicked someone who made a familiar grunting sound. Casrien scrambled to his feet, lurching across the room. He shoved away the Monteseran roughly. Casrien bent to grip the Illyrian’s flying leathers tightly, cursing the fae bane shackles, “Israen?!” Casrien glared at the male by the door. “You’re going to regret this.”

He pulled Israen up, “Cas?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Casrien smiled. Israen embraced him tightly, stumbling as he pulled away to examine him. He looked half asleep, with massive bruises over his face. “You look like shit.”

Israen messed up Casrien’s hair, “Coming from you. What happened to your shirt?”

“Well, erm, it’s a long story,” Casrien offered. His cousin raised a suspicious eyebrow. “It is!”

“You are going to tell me it, soon,” He stepped back, glancing around the room. Israen dragged up the second person the newcomer had brought. She moaned in pain. “Aelia? Aelia, it’s me.”

“What happened?” Aelia slurred. Casrien stepped forward, pulling one of her arms over his shoulder. “Little Cas?”

“Who the hell are you and what do you want from us?” Israen demanded of the Monteserans. They looked at each other.

Casrien caught the faint smell of roses and deep, rich earth before either could answer.  _Lyssa._  He surged forward, grabbing the male by the throat and lifting him from the floor. “Where is she?! What did you do to her?!”

“Let him go!” The loud princess tugged on his arm to no avail. “Please, don’t hurt him!”

“Only one-“ the Monteseran grabbed at the hand around his throat. “One female.”

“I can smell her,” Casrien snarled. “You’re lying!”

“Cas, we might need him,” Israen touched his shoulder. Casrien bared his teeth but let the male drop. He turned back toward Aelia who was leaning heavily on the wall. Something flew off her back. Casrien squinted.

The fly became a female. Israen cursed. Casrien took a deep breath, racing forward as she did. She tugged on his hair and kissed him, eliciting a groan from the very back of his throat. She smiled against him.

“You kept your clothes,” Casrien murmured. She kissed along his jaw until he cupped her chin and drew her mouth back to his.

“I have mixed feelings about it,” Lyssa answered.

“Uh, Cas, can we focus for a sec?”

Lyssa kissed him, nipping at his lip. Casrien groaned again. Lyssa hummed, her scent shifting.

A shimmering wall of white sprung up between them, pushing them away from each other. Casrien scoured the room for the threat. “Are those new Siphons? I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Aelia changed them,” Israen let the wall drop. Casrien took Lyssa hand, tucking her into his side. She sighed quietly.

“How?” Casrien asked, looking back.

“I’m heir to the Summer Court,” Aelia answered, her voice still unsteady. Israen helped her leave the wall, wrapping an arm around her waist. She smiled at him before addressing Casrien again. “My father has been hiding my power. I can turn things into precious metals or stones.”

“Nice. I look forward to working with you,” Casrien grinned at her. “What else has happened?”

“I broke my Siphons again, hence the new ones. Uncle Az almost died, but he’s okay now. Da almost died, but he’s okay now. I almost died-“

“I get it,” Casrien laughed. Israen grinned lazily.

“Oh, and your mom is pregnant,” Israen said.

“She’s w-what?” Casrien stuttered. How had he not noticed? Was he supposed to notice? Had they been dropping hints about it? Casrien was pretty sure they hadn’t. Though, she had been sick lately. Cauldron, was he stupid?

“Cas? Hey, no one knew,” Israen reassured him.

“Can we do this later? We’re not alone,” Lyssa said. Casrien turned his gaze on the Montereserans. The princess was helping the male back to his feet. A blood vessel had popped in his eye.

“For the record,” he rasped, “I had no idea she was there.”

Lyssa gripped Casrien tighter. “What do you want?”

“Well, our father is concerned about the status of our kingdom. Keta has no interest in men. I have no preference either way. He thinks the throne will fall to one of his despised cousins,” said the male. “I am Kegin.”

“You didn’t answer his question,” Israen stepped forward.

“I want you all to stage an escape that leaves the two of us blameless in the eyes of our father,” said Kegin. Casrien met Israen’s eyes.

“Shouldn’t be too hard.”

—:—:—:—

“What are we going to do?” Arrianne asked. Feyre sighed, leaning back in her chair. The males were yet bickering. Arrianne had grown tired of it. Around and around in circles they went, taking the same sides in the same arguments about the same things. She had excused herself to go and sit with Feyre, who was lightheaded and awaiting the arrival of food.

“Like Tarquin said. We must wait to see what they do,” Feyre murmured.

“No,” Arrianne sighed. “I meant when they get back. Like it or not, our children are mated. We can’t keep them apart.”

“I have seen that Tamlin is not as overbearing as he could be, as he was with me,” Feyre said quietly. “But I still doubt that he would willingly let Lyssa go to the Night Court after …”

After what had happened to Feyre. Arrianne nodded, twisting her hair around her fingers as she thought. “What if Casrien came to visit Spring?”

“I could not send him alone. He would have an Illyrian guard, and they have yet to forget what was done to Rhys’s mother and sister,” Feyre said quietly.

“I heard they were resentful of Rhys and-“

“Nothing excuses the removal of an Illyrian’s wings,” Feyre said with a shake of her head. “They could’ve clipped them, torn them, anything. Removing the wings entirely of any Illyrian, male or female, is the greatest offense one can perpetrate.”

“What if you sent Israen and Aelia with him?” Arrianne suggested after a moment.

“They distract each other too easily,” Feyre said.

“Then we send them to Summer,” Arrianne sat straighter. Feyre tilted her head slightly. “I have family here. Israen and Tarquin would not let harm befall your son. Hell, my mother would chaperone them if you wanted.”

“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” Feyre said with a tiny laugh. A Nature Fae breezed by, leaving a platter of fruits and cheeses in their wake. Feyre called after them, “Thank you.”

Arrianne folded her hands on the small table before her, waiting for the High Lady’s response. Feyre pulled apart a small slice of cheese, “I never understood why you and Sonya didn’t want to be High Ladies.”

“He offered it. The title,” Arrianne said softly, watching her husband. She sighed. “He was enough. Spring was enough. I didn’t want to have the rest of Prythian constantly looking at me; I don’t think I’m powerful enough for it. The rest of you may see me just as Tamlin’s wife, but I don’t think he ever did.”

“What about Lyssa?” Feyre asked, reaching for a chunk of melon.

“Lyssa makes everything  _whole_ ,” Arrianne said quietly, looking away from Tamlin. She took a deep breath. “I don’t think I’m ready to have her away from me more often than not.”

“I understand that,” Feyre sighed. “They could spend weekends in Adriata. Israen’s already training Aelia, he could train the three of them.”

“I don’t know how well they’ll get along,” Arrianne worried her lip for a time. Feyre continued to pick at her plates of food. “We should probably tell our husbands about this at some point.”

“Probably,” Feyre agreed lightly. Arrianne watched the arguing. They were saying the same things they had been for nearly an hour.

“Where is Vivianne?” Arrianne asked quietly. Feyre sat up straighter, narrowing her eyes.

“Kallias and Tarquin are stalling,” Feyre murmured. “They don’t want us risking any more when the children are more than capable of saving themselves.”

“They’re all stalling,” Arrianne frowned. Tamlin looked over at her and winked.

“So much for working together.”

—:—:—:—

“Three, two,” Israen pointed, mouthing  _one_. Lyssa shrank, smaller and smaller until she was hardly visible. Israen pulled on the door. She disappeared into the crack between it and the floor. The door swung open moments later. Israen kissed Aelia briefly, then punched Kegin again. They needed him to look the part, but Casrien stopped to heal him so  _only_  the look remained. He’d already healed Israen and Aelia’s spattering of bruises fully. Casrien fitted the fae bane manacles over Keta’s wrists, apologizing quietly. Israen passed their key back to Kegin. Casrien took a deep breath, darkness flickering at his shoulders and hands. Israen tilted his head, and Casrien nodded. Lyssa reappeared.

“There’s something going on up above. We should have a clear path,” she reported. Casrien took her hand. Israen took Aelia’s, nodding at his cousin. Darkness covered the room. Israen gripped Casrien’s shoulder with his free hand. “You would think Beron would’ve warned the Monteserans a little more thoroughly.”

“We aren’t his problem anymore,” Casrien answered.

“You know he’s dead, right?” Israen asked quietly.

“What?”

“Yeah, your dad misted his ass when he tried to kill Uncle Kal,” Israen said. Aelia squeezed his hand sharply. He, in turn, tightened his grip on Casrien. They fell quiet. Shouts rang out distantly, but the footsteps were not moving toward them. No, they ran upward, to the deck. Israen squeezed Casrien twice. Lyssa was right.

They began to move faster. Casrien pushed back the darkness so they could see what lay before them. Lyssa led them up to the top deck, Casrien keeping the darkness below. Israen squinted as they ascended into the sunlight. He really would’ve preferred to have gone up first, but he couldn’t let Aelia go. He couldn’t.

The Monteserans were all frozen in blocks of ice. Five people were examining them, bickering about whether or not to let them go.

“Uncle Az!”

“Aunt Viv!”

“Hart!”

“Mother!”

“What am I, invisible?”

Casrien launched himself at their family, one arm around Uncle Azriel and the other around Aunt Viv. Uncle Lucien stood between them. Israen jumped on top of his cousin. Lucien reached over to ruffle his hair, smiling. Casrien pushed him off. Aelia was hugging and lecturing her mother at the same time, and Lyssa was talking animatedly to a Spring Court sentry.

“This fool,” Aelia’s mother pointed around Azriel to Lucien. “Would not take no for an answer.”

“How did you find us?” Lyssa demanded of her sentry.

“We put a tracking spell on you.”

“Thank you for keeping Lily safe, Cas,” Lucien said.

“You were supposed to stay with me!” Aunt Viv flicked Israen’s ear.

“Can we get out of here?” Israen called loudly, trying to get everyone to focus in. Casrien stepped back from everyone else, looking at Lyssa. Aelia stopped trying to scold her mother. “We need to get off this boat, sooner rather than later.”

“I think it’s a ship,” said Lyssa.

“Shut it, Spring Court, that’s not the point.”

“You’re not the leader, Bat Boy, let your elders make the plans,” Lyssa flipped him off. Israen touched a hand to his heart, opening his mouth slightly.

“Oh, leave him alone,” Aelia snickered. “He’s doing his best.”

“Israen is right, we need to go,” Azriel said. Israen stuck his tongue out at Lyssa and moved toward Aelia.

“Israen, I’m going to winnow her home,” her mother said lightly. Israen wondered how she knew he was going to try and fly with Aelia.

“I know, I know, I’m just going to say goodbye to my betrothed,” Israen recovered smoothly. Aelia touched his cheek and he kissed her softly. “Your friend is mean.”

“Did you just say betrothed?!” Casrien called. Israen raised a hand to tell him to wait and Aelia kissed him.

“I’ll see you soon,” she murmured. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Israen answered. She stepped away, taking her mother’s hand. The two females disappeared. Israen turned to Casrien, rubbing the back of my head, “So, Aelia and I are kind of …”

“Betrothed?” Casrien offered. Israen nodded.

“Cas, Israen, catch up later,” Azriel ordered.

Casrien smiled sheepishly and turned to Lyssa, “Can you shift you and your sentry into birds?” She nodded. “I can make ice so we can land and take a break whenever you need to.”

“Thank you, Cas,” she kissed his cheek. Then she turned to her sentry.

“You can turn me back, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hart,” Lyssa smiled, poking his shoulder. He shifted with a flash, awkwardly taking flight. Lyssa lingered a moment longer, then grabbed Casrien by his hair and kissed him soundly. Casrien pulled her closer, and Israen looked away.

“Uh, we’ve got shit to do, could you lay off?” Israen demanded, glaring at the floorboards.

Lyssa pulled away with a scoff, “As though you and Aelia are any better.”

“We don’t fuck while in mortal peril!”

“Nor do we,” Lyssa turned into a large, white Albatross and soared up into the air before Israen could answer.

“Are you trying to tell me you actually like her?” Israen pointed up at her. Casrien shrugged, though he was grinning.

It was Uncle Lucien who said, “She’s Spring Court. She  _grows_  on you.”

Israen groaned as Casrien cackled. Uncle Azriel gripped the pun-making menace and pushed off into the sky. Israen offered Aunt Viv a hand as Casrien soared after them.

“Play nice, Israen,” she patted his cheek. He swept her into his arms and took to the sky.

—:—:—:—

_We’re coming back. They’re all well enough to bicker and joke._

Rhys caught Feyre as she collapsed against him. Tarquin summoned a chair and Rhys eased her into it. “You’re all right, love, it’s over. It’s over.”

“What?” Helion asked.

“Azriel just reported in. He has them,” Rhys said. He waited for the protests at going behind their backs. They were silent.

Sonya winnowed in, Aelia at her side. Rhys’s mouth fell open. “Dear, you’d never guess who I ran into.”

“Azriel?” Tarquin strode to his wife and child confidently, kissing each on the brow.

“And Lucien. And Hart. And Vivianne.”

Tarquin paused, and Sonya kissed him, stepping away before he could react. She had Aelia’s hand in hers. Rhys pursed his lips.

“How did you get  _Hart_  out there?” Kallias asked incredulously.

“I gave him about an hour’s worth of being a pelican. He can winnow short distances.”

“Lucien was supposed to stay,” Feyre murmured. Rhys kissed her cheek, not entirely sure of what to answer. Lucien could surprise them from time to time.

“If they’re flying, it’ll take some time for them to arrive,” Helion said, tapping his foot on the marble floor. Rhys wondered if any of them had enough patience for that.

They didn’t. With Sonya to give them a direction, the High Lords and Ladies of Prythian winnowed out to sea, returning with their lieutenants and family. Rhys carried Casrien, Tarquin took Israen, Sonya snatched up Vivianne, Helion took Lucien, Azriel managed on his own, and Rhys and Tarquin returned for Hart and Tamlin’s daughter.

“For the record,” Israen had hardly appeared, Tarquin beside him, when he opened his mouth. “We were already out by the time they arrived.”

“Noted,” Rhys said, eyeing Lyssa carefully. She went to her mother, and Casrien to his. Rhys tapped on his son’s mental shields and received a blast of overwhelmed emotions. They calmed slightly as Feyre held him. Rhys scented salt and wrapped a gentle darkness around them. He rested one arm around his mate and one around their son. Casrien shuddered and cried quietly, his breathing ragged. Feyre murmured soft things and Rhys messed with his hair carefully.

“I was so scared.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I love you,” Feyre said. “Both of you.”

“How’s Lily?” Casrien asked, his voice muffled by Feyre’s shoulder. He was taller than her now, but still he tried to pretend he was not.

“She misses her favorite cousin,” said Rhys, straightening slightly at a distinct, interrupting cough from Helion. Casrien squirmed and tried to escape his parents. Rhys sighed and stepped back, releasing his darkness. Feyre discreetly wiped Casrien’s tears, taking his face and stretching on her toes to kiss his brow. She was starting to glow. “We’ll go home soon, Cas.”

“There’s always something to argue about,” Casrien nodded, letting Feyre wrap an arm around him and press him to her side. Casrien’s face flickered with confusion for no longer than it took for Rhys to notice before hardening. He pushed at Rhys’s shield, shaking, exhausted. Rhys let him in.  _She’s really with child?_

_She is. We didn’t want to get your hopes up in case … something happened,_  Rhys explained.Casrien slung his arm around his mother.

“Let’s go sit down,” Casrien said.

“Does no one think anything of the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt?” Hart called, gesturing at Casrien.

“He rarely does,” said Nesta.

“Oh, come now, he’s been better about it,” Lucien chided. “It only comes off when he’s training these days.”

“Da,” Israen said lowly, his eyes flicking to Rhys. Lucien and Nesta continued to tease Casrien. Rhysand and Cassian shifted closer. “Are we really going to separate mates? I- I mean … they  _want_  the bond. And Spring couldn’t be farther from the Night Court.”

Rhys watched Lyssa. She was staring too innocently at the floor, and her scent had become more animal. He didn’t doubt she’d shifted to eavesdrop. She looked up at Casrien. He glanced over from beside Feyre but said nothing.

_What now?_

_Israen, later_ , Rhys grumbled. He could already feel a headache edging in on him. Rhys turned to Feyre,  _We have quite the mess to fix._

_It’s not the first time._

—:—:—:—

Lily screamed, “Stop, stop, stop! Too fast,  _too fast!_ ”

“You said to go faster,” Casrien reminded her dramatically. Lily was dangled from his shoulders, her feet firmly grasped in his hands. He slowed to a stop from his spinning. He lifted her, giggling, over his head and set her on the ground. She fell onto her back without hesitation. Casrien groaned and laid down beside her.

“Supper!” Casrien sighed at Elain’s call. Lily hopped up immediately. Casrien didn’t understand how she did it. The grass was soft and the sun was warm. He closed his eyes and let the heat spread over him. A small foot stepped on his outstretched arm.

“Cas!”

“Hmm?”

“Food!”

“Where?”

“Fooooooooood!” She jiggled his arm with her foot and ran off. Casrien smiled and turned his head, opening his eyes just enough to see her tiny feet disappear inside. She slammed the door shut behind her.

Casrien was nearly asleep when someone nudged his side. He squinted up as Lucien looked down at him. Casrien raised a hand to block the sun. “Did my daughter slay you in combat or wits?”

“Neither,” Casrien sighed. Lucien grabbed his hand and hauled him up. Casrien couldn’t help but glance back at the House of Wind. He swallowed nervously as they started up the porch. “When-“

“I don’t know.”

“Does-“

“Cas,” Lucien gave him the Father- _Look_. He muttered an apology reflexively as Lucien opened and held the door for him. Elain had already set four places, with Lily next to Casrien.

“You know, sometimes I feel like you use me as a free nanny,” Casrien said, taking his seat. He’d been smelling the roast for hours, and it was nearly enough to truly drive him mad.

“Eat,” Elain gestured at the table. “When it’s this good, the blessing comes after.”

Casrien chuckled and obeyed. Lily only caught his sleeve on fire twice. He and Lucien discussed the new trade agreement with Autumn.

When Elain took Lily to the bathroom, they talked about the Court of Nightmares. When Casrien explained his plan, Lucien whistled lowly. “You are your father’s son… Or your mother’s. Both, really. Both.”

“I still need to ask Aunt Mor,” Casrien admitted quietly.

“She’s going to say yes.”

Lucien was right. Casrien suspected Elain had let him in on it.

—:—:—:—

Casrien didn’t mind darkness so much. The Court of Nightmares had never frightened him as a child—even as the High Lord’s son, younglings were too precious to risk harming him. Even the monsters under the bed, and he’d actually had one of them, would rather be his friend than his enemy. And the creatures carved on the walls? That was his father and his father and his father and … The only thing that ever scared him much were heights, and he fully blamed Israen for that brief bout.

He had to ask where Keir was, because he didn’t greet Casrien at the gate, as usual, and he wasn’t in the throne room trying to impress Casrien’s father. That meant he knew why the visit had come. Azriel sent Casrien in the right direction. The Steward was hiding in a near unused hallway, pacing, muttering to himself.

“How unlike you, Keir,” said Casrien. The older male jumped. “I was trying to see how far I could get from the throne room before I was sent for. I don’t think I’ve ever even gone back here before.” Keir smiled falsely, his nerves apparent in the shaking of his hands. “Did you get lost?”

The smiled vanished. “Of course not.”

“Hiding then?” Casrien grinned his mother’s wolf-smile. Keir scoffed and stepped forward to brush past him. Casrien tore through his shields before Keir could reach him, freezing him in place. Star-kissed darkness twined around Casrien’s knuckles. He stepped closer, looking Keir in the eye. “I could care less that you sold me out. And I don’t blame you for giving up Spring,” Casrien drawled lazily. A bead of sweat formed at Keir’s hairline and ran down his temple. Casrien froze it with a thought. His smile fell with his voice, “Then, you dragged a youngling into it, and not any youngling, my cousin—Lily.” From the shadows behind Casrien, his Illyrian uncles emerged, their black-scale armor gleaming. There was no trace of emotion on either face. Casrien leaned closer to Keir and whispered, “You’ve made many mistakes in your lifetime, Keir. I don’t know that giving them Lily was your last, but it was certainly the worst.”

“You don’t frighten me,” Keir snarled, otherwise immobile.

“Ah,” Casrien turned away. His uncles started forward. “ _There’s_  your last mistake.”

Casrien made his way back to the throne room, ignoring Keir’s indignant shouts. By the time he was sitting on the armrest the twin thrones shared (his typical spot), he could hear nothing over the thrumming music. His mother reached out to hold his hand during a break between sets.

The distant screams gave the musicians pause. Slowly, the confusion spread through the hall. People looked about, trying to find which of them was missing. Casrien’s father chatted with Mor as though nothing was wrong.

Mor’s mother stepped out of the crowd. She knelt before the dais, her head bowed. Her voice was low and vicious, wrapped in polite patience. “Where. Is. He.”

“Halfway to hell,” Casrien answered just as low. “Where he belongs.”

Cold, brown eyes snapped to his, “You insolent little child-“

Mor had a sword to her neck before she could finish. The hall went entirely silent. “Now, Mother, we wouldn’t want to speak ill of our future High Lord, especially if we want to live long enough to see him crowned.”

“Don’t worry,” Rhys said quietly. “Since Keir committed treason, all his holdings now belong to … well,  _me._  With any luck, and a little hard work, you can earn back what was yours—your father’s inheritance and your dowry. I’ll thrown in your quarters, too.”

“What work?” Mor’s mother growled against the sword on her throat. Mor smiled.

“I thought we could start with embroidering a gift for young Casrien. The human way, to honor his heritage.”

Mor’s mother snarled but jerked her head in compliance. Casrien slipped off the armrest. His mother rose behind him. She merely touched his back, and they were back in Velaris.

Well, over Velaris.

Casrien’s wings unfurled and he sighed as the wind and sun lifted his wings. His mother leveled out just below him. She turned to look up at him.

Then they dove, racing for the ground. Casrien tore past her, into the valleys of the mountains running along the coast. His mother’s laughter filled the entire range. Casrien pushed upward, kicking snow off a peak before plummeting toward the City of Starlight. A snow ball hit him in the back of the head as he landed at the House of Wind. He shook the snow from his hair and coated his mother’s wings in ice. She shivered and shifted.

“I missed you, Cas,” she smiled and ruffled his hair. He bent so she could.

“Is Dad not letting you fly?” Casrien frowned.

“He’s advised me to be careful,” she answered tersely. She slung an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into the House. “It’s your uncles who are the real menaces.”

“Full-blooded, overly-territorial Illyrian males,” Casrien quoted sagely. She laughed. Casrien had always loved that he could make his mother laugh. She did it often, but mostly in answer to idiocy rather than attempts at humor. His mother let him go and went to the liquor cabinet. “Uh, Mom?”

“For you and Israen,” she said. “I’m not having any.”

“Right,” Casrien sighed. He shifted to the balcony and leaned against the railing. Velaris was the same as it always had been. Quiet, peaceful, soothing. He had changed, but he had not outgrown the City of Starlight. He didn’t know what it meant. It meant that he had more to learn, or that he was supposed to be in Velaris, supposed to become High Lord. Or it was as his parents said; Velaris was the best city in the known world.

Glass clinked as he watched the townhouses puff out smoke into the air. He wanted to race through those stacks, chasing Israen, kicking shingles off roofs and paying for it later in push-ups and training with Uncle Cassian.

But Israen was leaving.  _Betrothed._

“Cas.” His mother’s hand was warm on his shoulder. He should’ve heard her come to him. He was a mess, too deep in thought. If he wasn’t careful- There was no consequence. He wasn’t in the Autumn Court anymore, wasn’t bound by Fae Bane or chained by Monteserans. He could talk to his mother about whatever he wanted.

“He hardly said a thing about her and now he’s moving and in love or whatever,” Casrien mumbled. He twisted his fingers together. “I just don’t get it, Mom.”

“You haven’t known Lyssa very long-“

“But we’re  _mates._ ”

“That only means what you make it,” her voice hardened. “You are surrounded by mates who love each other. This is so, so rare, Casrien. It’s a choice. Love is always a choice.”

“He’s choosing her.”

“Yes.”

“Summer.”

“Cas.”

“Too much happened,” Casrien pulled away from his mother, pacing back inside with his hands buried in his hair. “I don’t … It’s too much.”

“Casrien, you’re being selfish,” his mother chided.

“I know that,” Casrien grumbled. “But he’s  _my_  cousin. He’s supposed to be  _my_  General. We’re supposed to-“

“No plan survives the first sign of trouble.”

“This isn’t trouble, it’s just- frustrating!” Casrien snapped.

“You will not take that tone with me, Casrien, frustrated or not.”

“Sorry,” Casrien threw himself down on one of the couches. A weight settled at his side. His mother rested a hand on his back. “I didn’t get a say. I  _never_  get a say.”

“That’s how it is sometimes, Cas. Especially in this family,” his mother laughed darkly. Casrien muttered incoherently and propped his head up on his arms. “How is the mating bond?”

“I keep … She’s on the edge of my vision, but I can never quite turn fast enough to catch her. She’s been bored. Hasn’t done much but read,” Casrien hummed. “They’re planning something for her, but I don’t know what.”

Boots sounded in the hall. Casrien scrambled to his feet. His father swept into the room, kissing his mother swiftly before heading to the liquor cabinet. Two glasses of wine were already poured. Casrien’s father poured another.

“That bad?”

“We’re going to have to keep a tight eye on Little Cas for a while,” his father drained the glass quickly. He threw a wink at Casrien. “Maybe send him out of town to catch some sun.”

Casrien wasn’t amused. “I have no interest in being a third wheel for an extended period of time.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

—:—:—:—

“Is,” he groaned. The warmth at his side moved away. He instinctively tightened his arms to pull it back. There was a light laugh—his favorite laugh—and a sigh. “Israen.”

“Aelia,” he murmured, trying to find her skin with his lips. She pulled at his eyes until he opened them. Her hair was a riot of curly white. He pushed it back from her face and kissed her nose. She poked his cheek. “What?”

“We were supposed to meet your High Lord at the House of Wind an hour ago.”

“Hmm,” Israen closed his eyes again. Aelia continued to chuckle. “ _Wait, SHIT!”_

Ten minutes later, Israen landed at the House of Wind, Aelia in his arms. His parents were waiting. Uncle Rhysand and Aunt Feyre were passed out on the couch, Casrien curled up in the arm chair beside them.

“Little late, aren’t we?” said his father. Israen flinched.

“Your son is a heavy sleeper,” Aelia said, heading past them to a basket of cut bread. She immediately began to eat. “I was shaking him for a solid ten minutes before he stopped snoring.”

Casrien started in the arm chair, launching to his feet. A cold wind whipped through the room, and he lifted a sword of ice.

“Easy, Little Cas,” said Israen’s mother, stepping forward lithely. “You’re safe. We’re at the House of Wind.”

“Lyssa?” Casrien asked, his eyes still wild with sleep.

“She’s in Spring. Safe.”

The room warmed back up, and the sword dissolved. Casrien cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. Israen caught his gaze. Casrien’s mouth set in a firm, displeased line.

And Israen remembered that he had been so busy packing and moving that he had never talked with Casrien about any of it. Casrien had been avoiding him, sure, but Israen hadn’t made any sort of effort to catch up. Some part of Israen had assumed Casrien already knew. He always told Casrien and his father first. But Casrien had been gone, and things with Aelia had been too complicated for Israen to properly explain before.

“We need to talk,” Israen said quietly. “Alone.”

“Do you have the time for that?” Casrien asked shortly. Israen couldn’t keep the hurt from his face. Aelia stopped eating.

“Come on, you snarky baby, let’s go,” Israen waved him forward, so they could go to the sparring ring. But there was a flare to Casrien’s nostrils, a straightening in his stance.

“I’m not a child,” he snarled.

Israen had dealt with what his parents referred to as ‘chafed-mates’ before. The primal anger and sorrow rolling off Casrien definitely qualified him for that. Israen could see the weight of the distance in the dark circles beneath his eyes, in the restless energy in his hands and legs, in pallor of his skin. He usually won duels against Casrien. Today would be no different.

“I didn’t call you a child,” Israen said, supremely unaffected. “I called you a  _baby._ ”

“Oh,” Casrien laughed coldly, raising a finger to point at Aelia. “And if I keep her from you, what’ll you be? If you’d even care, that is.”

Israen saw red. He was pinning his cousin to the carpet. Then he was tossed through a window. Then he was breaking Casrien’s wings. Then they were tumbling through open air. They hit the ocean. Ice made it hard to move. He smacked Casrien with Illyrian power. The mountains shook and the sea boiled. No one tried to stop them. Israen wasn’t going to kill Casrien, and Casrien couldn’t kill Israen. 

“You! Asshole!” Casrien had him pinned in the sand. It turned to glass around them. Israen threw him off. Casrien’s eyes were wild, but they’d lost the edge. “You don’t talk to me for months, and then you walk away completely!”

“You bedded a female for the first time and didn’t even mention it!”

Casrien tore his shirt and exposed a thin scar on his chest. “Because she almost killed me! It’s embarrassing!”

“No more than being mated to the Spring brat.”

“She saved my life!” Casrien spat. “And where were you? Aelia screamed in the dark, and you were gone. You didn’t go to my parents, to my  _pregnant_  mother. You went to Aelia. I hardly know her beyond the fact that you disappear to fuck her from time to time!”

“I show up in that Monteseran ship half beaten to hell, and all you can do is demand to see some- some  _stranger!”_

“She’s my mate!” Casrien screamed. Israen stopped short. Casrien threw ice around him. “She’s my mate and she’s gone! And I don’t know when I’ll see her again, if I’ll ever see her again!”

“You barely know her,” Israen said lowly.

“I’ve known her a short time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know her well,” Casrien said. “The only thing you know about Aelia is how she likes to be fucked.”

Israen rushed him again. They ended up in the sand, Israen’s legs in a vice grip around Casrien, his arm hooked around Casrien’s neck. Casrien flailed ineffectually.

“Apologize!”

“It’s true!”

“It’s not!”

“Then tell me what the fuck happened!”

“I saw her smile too many times, I don’t know,” Israen seethed. “I watched males and females make her uncomfortable, I noticed when she was confident. I learned what made her laugh. I didn’t realize what it all meant until everyone I ever knew was in immediate danger and I knew  _she_  needed me the most. No one else  _needs_  me, Cas. They just like to have me around. And even Aelia could survive without me, but I don’t want to live without her.”

“So you can fall in love in a few days, and I can’t?” Casrien demanded. “Not even with me mated and you unmated?”

“Nobody gives a shit about the mating, Cas.”

“That’s not true!”

“You can’t see it because you’re part of it!” Israen shouted. “Nobody. Cares!”

“Then why has Lucien been meeting with Spring Emissaries so much?” Casrien demanded shortly. “Why is Tarquin in so close talks with Arrianne’s family in Summer? Why is Kallias unblocking the Warped Passages that lead to Spring? I don’t have a big head, Israen, you  _know_  me. But all  _anyone_  cares about is the mating.”

“They care about the problems it’s creating.”

“You liar,” Casrien hissed. “You don’t even know about what goes on in the Night Court anymore.”

“I so do!”

“Then what happened to Keir?”

Israen stopped short. “Something happened to Keir?” Casrien laughed humorlessly. Israen tightened his grip. “What happened?”

“I gave him to your dad and Uncle Az. Your dad didn’t tell you?”

Israen pulled up with his arm. Had he squeezed much more, he would’ve cut off the blood flow, and Casrien would’ve passed out quickly. But Israen wanted him to remember why he’d gone out. Casrien growled as Israen cut off his air supply. His body went cold, so cold it nearly burned. Israen shielded himself with his Siphons. Darkness cloaked them, and something pressured his mind. He fought back wildly as his grip on Casrien loosened. Casrien rolled away onto his hands and knees and coughed into the sand.

“What the fuck, Is?!”

“I was going to have a normal conversation with you and you just don’t know when to shut the fuck up!” Israen snapped. Casrien released his mind. He stood up immediately, ready to take flight.

Casrien started to laugh, sitting down on the beach. He held his head in his hands and laughed. Israen crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Finally, he whispered, “You have no ability to empathize.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Casrien was back in his mind. And everything was different. Everything was laced with dread and terror and fear. There was not a thing around them that could not be used against them. They were alone on the beach, easy targets. They didn’t know where their females was. To be separated from them was a great danger. They could trust no one.

Israen sat down on the beach next to Casrien. He’d forgotten that Casrien had never been in real combat before. He was still untrained, untrusted. Now and again, there were assassins, but his abilities had thrashed them as soon as he sensed the threat. He’d been essentially invincible. To go from that to being in constant danger, unable to rely on his magic … It had changed Casrien. Maybe he would never be the same again, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

Israen realized that Casrien had been trying to provoke him to see if he could beat him. And he could. For the first time, Casrien won, because Israen harbored no real intention to permanently harm him. He might try to teach him a lesson, but he didn’t want to hurt him. Not really.

“I know things aren’t going to go back to the way they were,” Casrien sighed. “I just wish you weren’t leaving so soon.”

“I’m leaving so soon to give you an excuse to see your crazy blonde female,” Israen ruffled his cousin’s hair. “You should be thanking me.”

“It’s not going to work,” Casrien sighed. “Tamlin will never trust us.”

—:—:—:—

In true Spring Court fashion, a ball was thrown to honor Lyssa’s first kill. At least, that was what her father claimed it was, his smile brilliant but wicked. Her mother insisted (with a light smack to her father’s arm) that it was more a welcome home. Lyssa didn’t care either way.

The mating bond was so weak, she could barely even sense Casrien’s emotions when awake. She dreamt of him, and with him. When she asked her father, he said, rather succinctly, “Everyone has limits.” She didn’t quite understand why pain tensed his face, and did not push.

They held the ball outside in the ruins of a temple that had once stood, perfectly round but now open to the air. Pillars stood upright or on their side, fourteen in total, evenly spaced. The rubble had been cleared from the center and flattened out into a tiled dance floor. Seating and refreshments ringed the ancient ruin. This time of year, the sun lingered long, and it was still hanging on the horizon when the music and dancing started.

No one asked her to dance. Usually, she could not dance with more than one male the whole night. Now, with the agonized scent of a distant mate clinging to her, they did not approach. She didn’t want them to. She leaned against centuries old stone at the edge of the light and scowled at any who dared to disturb her peace.

Her mother stood with her for a time, her head leaned against Lyssa’s shoulder. Lyssa waited for her to speak, but she never did. She eventually plunged into the throngs of people milling about and began to socialize.

Lyssa rubbed at her arms. Her dress left them bare. The deeply green velvet clung to her form, emeralds glittering at her bosom. The green darkened to black by the time the dress reached her ankles. A slit reached up to the middle of her thigh. Her hair was braided in a crown around her face, and a silver diadem rested atop it, carefully pinned in place by her mother. Her mother had picked out everything, the dress, the crown, the shoes, the hair. She’d even lined Lyssa’s eyes with dark brown kohl and painted her lips red.

“You look very nice,” she turned to look up at her father. He matched, wearing forest green. Her mother was in pale pink. Her father touched her cheek and kissed her forehead. “Very grown up.”

“Thank you,” Lyssa ducked her head. There was something sad in his eyes. “I don’t mean to disappoint you, but I … I don’t feel like celebrating.”

“I know,” he smiled. “This party … It isn’t what you need. I’ve made this mistake before. I want you to be happy, Lyssa, but … I can’t make you be happy.”

“I miss him, Father,” Lyssa whispered. “I know there is bad blood, I know he is dangerous, but-“

“It’s okay,” he embraces her. She held him tightly. “I understand. I’ve seen bad matings, and this is not that. We—Rhys and I—we’re going to fix things between our Courts. For you. The two of you.”

Lyssa looked up at him, her eyes watering. “Really?”

“Do not underestimate what I would do for you, Lyssa,” her father kissed the top of her head again. He held out his hand. “Will you let me drag you to the dancing just once?”

Lyssa contemplated the outstretched hand. “Only if you play.”

“It is a deal.”

She took his hand. He pulled her into the center of the floor as the sun vanished entirely. The dancers backed out of the circle. Lyssa glanced sidelong at her father when he did not move to face her.

Low rolling thunder sounded, and Casrien appeared with his father. It had been twelve days and four hours since she’d last seen him. She forgot about the ball, about the dancers and musicians, even about their fathers. She stepped forward and his scent wrapped around her. He crashed into her, his arms holding her tight. She ducked her head into his neck and breathed deeply. She was crying. He was crying. She balled her fists in his shirt and held him as though he might disappear if she didn’t.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

She leaned back enough to brush her nose along his. He kissed her. Her hands slid up and around his neck, pulling him closer.

“ _Ahem._ ”

Casrien jumped at her father’s voice, standing straight. Lyssa lazily looked at her father. Casrien’s father was covering his mouth with his hand, his eyes sparkling.

“Casrien.”

“Sir.”

“She does not leave the Spring Court.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Father,” Lyssa groused. She finally let herself register what Casrien was wearing. The tunic matched the green of her dress, embroidered intricately with vines and flowers. His pants were dark and fit him very well. His hair was styled carefully under a silver circlet, inset with emeralds. “How long have you had this planned?”

Her father and Casrien’s only smiled.

They danced while the High Lord of Spring played the fiddle, while the High Lord of Night blanketed them in darkness, so they were alone. They smiled, swayed, kissed, whispered. Night courtiers arrived, and when their dance was over, the greens and pinks and blues mixed with the blacks and reds and greys.

Lyssa and Casrien crept away into the forest, then into the manor.

The mating bond became unyielding light as they laid together, as Casrien bit her neck and Lyssa tore scratches down his back.

And Prythian was born anew.


End file.
